


November Third

by QueenofThyme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Smut, what more could you want from me?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 23:41:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12852030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenofThyme/pseuds/QueenofThyme
Summary: November third. It should have been a day like any other. Except it never was. Not for Draco Malfoy.Every November 3rd, the universe seemed to grant Draco Malfoy a chance with Harry Potter. A chance for what exactly, it wasn’t always clear. But something more than their rivalry. Something more than the empty words they shouted at each other across the schoolyard. Something that grew into a little bit more something every year.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chibaken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibaken/gifts).



> I wrote this story for my lovely friend chibaken to celebrate her birth on November third. You can follow her on [tumblr](https://o0o-chibaken-o0o.tumblr.com) or check out her fics on [ao3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/chibaken/pseuds/chibaken)
> 
> It was designed as a bingo fic (you know, that old classic) so if you want to follow along with the bingo board, check this fic out on tumblr [here](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/tagged/november3/chrono)

November third. It should have been a day like any other. Except it never was. Not for Draco Malfoy.

Muggles would call it a self-fulfilling prophecy. You anticipate something to happen so strongly that you end up seeking it out yourself, creating your own destiny and yet still calling it fate.

Some wizards had a different view. That the strength of a singular focus could work itself like an unconscious spell, creating magical power in a word, an idea, a date (for example), that you never intended.

Either way, the result ended up the same. Every November 3rd, the universe seemed to grant Draco Malfoy a chance with Harry Potter. A chance for what exactly, it wasn’t always clear. But something more than their rivalry. Something more than the empty words they shouted at each other across the schoolyard. Something that grew into a little bit more  _something_ every year.

The first November third after Draco Malfoy met Harry Potter was, of course, unexpected. The date had no significance yet. But by this time, within a few short months of meeting each other, Harry Potter had already become Draco Malfoy’s arch rival.

Draco found himself almost constantly thinking of ways to outsmart, and outmanoeuvre Potter, the golden child. Everyone loved Potter. Worshipped him, even. It wasn’t fair. Was Draco the only one who could see there wasn’t anything special about Potter apart from the scar on his head? And that had been the Dark Lord’s doing.

Of course, the thing that annoyed Draco the most about Potter, though, was the refusal of his friendship. It was as if Potter thought himself better than Draco. That Draco wasn’t worthy of Potter’s friendship. Like Potter was so great. He clearly didn’t understand or recognise Draco’s status in the Wizarding World or he would have jumped at the opportunity to be Draco’s friend. Draco took comfort in the knowledge that Potter would soon learn and regret ever turning a Malfoy away.

Still, there was a thrill in having an arch rival. Someone to scowl at across the breakfast table. Someone to try out new hexes on. Someone to compete with. And someone to fight.

There was always a crowd when they fought, whether it be with wands or words. Even when they had their wands out, it was mostly words anyway. Neither of them knew much magic yet. Although Potter’s knowledge was severely lacking, like he’d never picked up a wand before coming to Hogwarts.

And whether it was fated or a coincidence, come the first November third, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter met without those jeering crowds, in a quiet corridor, completely alone.

Draco had been frustrated about not understanding his History of Magic homework and too embarrassed to ask anyone else for help. He found himself up late the night before it was due, pacing the common room, trying to work himself out of the mess his own pride had created. Eventually he’d grown tired with the Slytherin dorm and ventured out into the castle, despite it being after hours. He figured he could always drop his name if a teacher found him. He knew his father could be very influential when he wanted to be.

He’d wandered higher than he’d meant to. Well, in fact, he had been a  _little_ curious as to the location of the Gryffindor Common Room (for the purpose of pranks of course) and found his feet simply took him in that direction. He didn’t find it of course. Just a number of endless long hallways that all looked the same bar the tall portraits that hung on the walls. One of the portraits - a lady in a hideously pink dress - had even tried to tell him off for roaming after hours. He had only walked faster.

Draco had been turning into a walkway he knew he’d seen before when he spotted a familiar figure shuffling towards him, in an old grey sweatshirt at least four sizes too big, and flannel pants that trailed across the floor. Oddly enough, despite the lack of audience for once, Draco experienced a bit of what could only be described as stage fright, nerves he didn’t recognise settling in his gut. It was a moment before he could work up the strength to speak.

”And I thought you were ugly enough in the day,” Draco managed to whisper, his voice carrying the distance easily with only a slight tremor. “Are those  _really_ your pyjamas, Potter?”

“Hmmmm,” was all Potter said in reply, still shuffling forwards.

That unsettled Draco. Potter was supposed to bite back with something witty, something to fuel the fight. Not - do whatever the hell he was doing now. Still, Draco kept his cool.

“I’m not surprised. Living with muggles - they were sure to rub off on you.”

Potter’s voice was so quiet, Draco almost didn’t hear it in the silent corridor. “They didn’t let me have pyjamas.”

“They didn’t let you have pyjamas?” Draco repeated. “What are you talking about? You’re speaking nonsense.”

Potter stopped shuffling, and leant up against the corridor wall, but not at his back like you’d expect, but all slumped on his side, his face squished awkwardly. “Always Dudley’s,” the squished face said.  “Never had my own.”

Draco kept walking closer. Potter was acting weird. “What’s a Dudley? And never had your own what?  _Pyjamas_?”

“Clothes.”

Draco was sure he hadn’t heard properly. “What do you mean you’ve never had your own clothes? The muggles don’t buy you  _clothes_?” He asked. It didn’t make sense. Potter was the boy who lived, the golden boy, the Wizarding World’s saviour. He got everything he wanted. How could he not have clothes?

“No,” Potter confirmed, stretching out the word. “I’m a waste of money.”

Draco blinked. “But you’re… _Harry Potter.”_

“I’m Harry Potter,” Potter repeated on one note, just as Draco came close enough to see his face properly in the dark corridor. His eyes were closed, and his face looked oddly relaxed, a vacant look that gave Draco the impression Potter’s mind was far from their conversation.

“Are you  _sleepwalking_?”

“Mmmmm.” Potter’s reply wasn’t particularly descriptive but it gave Draco his answer all the same. All at once he realised the power he had.

“I could ask you anything.”

“Mmmmm.”

Draco didn’t hesitate. There was one question that sprung to his mind immediately. One that had been ricocheting around in his head since the start of the school year. "Why’d you turn my friendship down?”

Sleeping Potter shrugged against the wall. “You were mean to Ron.”

Draco almost rolled his eyes but he ended up not bothering since Potter couldn’t appreciate the gesture in his current state anyway. All this time, Draco had thought there had been something wrong with  _him_ , when it was just that bloody Weasley kid.

His next question came to mind just as easy. “What do you think of me, then?”

Potter’s face screwed up before he answered - so Draco already knew he wasn’t going to like it. “Mean. Cruel. Selfish. A bully.” The words came out slowly, each one hitting Draco as harshly as the first.

“That’s not -  _you’re_  the one always goading me! What am I supposed to do?” Draco half-whispered, half-shouted. “You know what? Wait here, Potter.” Draco had let his voice rise a little higher than he strictly should’ve, considering the time of night, but he had more important things to worry about than keeping his volume in check. He had something to prove now.

He left Potter slumped up against the wall and hurried back down to the Slytherin dorms. He never realised how far down the dungeons really were until he travelled from the seventh floor to said dorms and back on one single journey. Hogwarts was in dire need of a lift.

On his way back up to the seventh floor, a small vindictive part of Draco hoped Potter had been caught by a teacher and punished. But a bigger, more controlling part of him was holding onto the hope that Potter would be exactly where Draco left him - he couldn’t very well prove his point without Potter.

Luck was on Draco’s side it would seem - it was November third after all - as Potter hadn’t moved further than slumping to the floor of the corridor, his head still resting against the wall.

“Here, take these,” Draco said, dumping a pair of pyjamas into Potter’s lap - nothing flashy, just the silver, silk ones he’d been gifted last Christmas. “Just so you know I’m  _not_ selfish.

“Thanks,” Potter mumbled, clutching at the material loosely. He didn’t seem as aware as he had been earlier.

“Well go along then,” Draco whispered down at him. “Back to your bed.”

Potter didn’t move. Despite the uncomfortable looking position, Potter appeared quite content to remain as he was.

For a second, Draco considered waking him up, or taking him back to the Gryffindor Common Room - if he could find it - but then he remembered this was Harry Potter. And he was Draco Malfoy.

It was late anyway. By the time Draco returned to his dorm, it was almost midnight. He allowed himself a single thought to how Potter was faring on the floor before he fell asleep. The strange night with Potter was over. And that was that. Draco wasn’t one to dwell on possibilities. They were arch rivals - it had been decided as soon as Potter had rejected Draco’s friendship, maybe even earlier. That was their only story. Anything else was impossible.


	2. Part Two

Second year, they’d been having one of their regular arguments when it turned into something else. Draco couldn’t even remember who suggested it when suddenly they were on the Quidditch Pitch, alone, for a match of seeker vs seeker. How it was that nobody followed them, no crowd, nor their friends, could have been chance, but years later Draco would attribute it to the date: November third.

In truth, Draco wasn’t expecting to win but he couldn’t very well back down from a challenge. Draco may have been flying since he was young, but he had seen Potter on the field last year - it appeared as if Potter had been _born_ flying and yet he’d only just picked up a broom at the start of the school year. How could Draco compete with that natural talent?

Still, he didn’t want to lose. His pride was at stake. If he had to play dirty to have any slight chance at winning, then he was very willing to do so. Although he had to be careful. Being caught cheating would be even more humiliating than just losing - Potter would know that Draco thought him to be the better player.

While Draco fiddled with his gloves (Potter hadn’t bothered to get his), Potter took control in preparing the snitch for release. Potter was a natural leader, Draco noticed. He was always taking charge with small things like that. Not to mention he also had no shortage of followers. Draco’s father had told him that everyone was either a follower or a leader. And that Malfoys were  _always_ leaders. But Draco’s father was a follower. And Draco didn’t know how to be anything else.

He let Potter release the snitch, and followed him up into the air, not failing to notice that he kicked off the ground half a second later than Potter. Whatever. He fixed his mind on winning.

Potter was already flying high, scanning the pitch from above Draco. How he saw anything with those ridiculous muggle glasses was a mystery. Which gave Draco an idea. He waited until Potter was facing the other way and pulled his wand from his robes, casting a quick vision charm on himself. It was a charm his mother always performed on him when they watched professional Quidditch games. It allowed him to see more than regular sight allowed, to catch movement that was usually too fast to focus. He’d never tried it himself before but he was relieved to find it worked straight away, although perhaps not as well as when his mother did it.

Still, looking around the pitch with enhanced clarity, Draco was rather confident about winning this match. Especially since he was able to spot the snitch within seconds. And he wasn’t going to waste time and give Potter any opportunity to win.

He flew casually in the direction of the snitch at first so as not to alert Potter, keeping one eye trained on its movements. When he was comfortable with Potter’s distance - which wasn’t until Potter had floated to the complete opposite side of the pitch - Draco sped up to full speed and easily snatched the snitch in a single outstretched hand before Potter could even look up. It was all too easy. Draco felt none of the adrenaline that usually coursed through him after playing Quidditch. He felt nothing at all, really.

Draco raised the snitch above his head to alert Potter to his win - since it had been completely unwitnessed and non-climatic - and flew back down to the ground. Potter joined him moments later, a familiar disappointment on his face. Neither of them had even broken a sweat.

Draco shook off his annoyance at the easy win. Even an easy win had to be better than losing. And of course, now he had bragging rights. “Remember the date, Potter. November third. The day I beat you.”

Potter’s face twitched, a little bit of life streaming back into it. “Enjoy it, because it’s the only day you’ll ever get to say that about.”

Draco felt some of the adrenaline he was missing building in his bloodstream. This was more like it. “Don’t tell me you’re a sore loser, Potter,” he teased, enjoying the way Potter’s face flushed in reaction.

“You’re hardly a gracious winner, Malfoy,” Potter retorted.

Draco smirked. “Oh no. I don’t claim to be. I’m going to hold this over your head forever.”

Potter looked around, a glint in his eye revealing the promise of a challenge before he spoke. “Shame there are no witnesses.”

“What are you -“

“After the whole school watches me destroy you at every Quidditch match this year,” Power elaborated, mimicking Draco’s smirk (except with far less style of course), “do you really think they’re going to believe you could ever beat me?”

Draco gaped back at Potter for a moment. He was in two minds - one was impressed by Potter’s bravado, the other furious that Potter could be so smug - like he was really  _that_  much better than Draco. Both minds were thrilled at the challenge presented, all the same. “You haven’t beaten me yet,” he reminded Potter, waving the snitch between them, the proof of his win.

Potter didn’t even glance at it. “Now that you’ve shown me your tactics and the way you fly, I’m pretty confident I can -“

“You did this to spy on my technique?” Interrupted Draco. “That’s- thats-“ The word ‘cheating’ couldn’t quite make it’s way out of his mouth. Not when those very “tactics” (whatever Potter meant) were exactly that.

“Genius?” Potter finished for him.

“I was going to say cheating,” Draco finally managed, hoping Potter wouldn’t notice his slight wince at the word. “It’s cheating,” he repeated, with a little more conviction.

Potter didn’t look too happy at the accusation. “No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No,” Potter said again, his voice prickly, “it’s really not.”

“Yes, it is,” Draco insisted.

“No, it’s not.”

Draco let his broom drop so he could cross his arms. “Yes, it is.”

“No,”Potter said, throwing his own broom down (oh, it was on!), “it’s  _not._ ”

“Yes, it is,” Draco repeated. Even irritated, he could still appreciate the strength of the adrenaline within his body from a fight with Potter. Turns out, cheating in Quidditch had nothing on  _accusing_  someone of cheating in Quidditch.

“Malfoy, it’s  _not_  cheating.”

“I think you’ll find it is.”

“No, I won’t, because it’s not.”

“Yes, it  _is,”_ Draco said, raising his voice a little.

“No,” Potter said, raising his own voice higher still, “it’s not.”

Accepting the unspoken challenge, Draco lifted his voice so that he was almost shouting. “Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not,” Potter said louder.

“YES, IT IS!” Draco yelled, sparing a quick thought to anyone out in the school grounds that might be able to hear them.

“NO, IT’S NOT!” Screamed Potter back at him.

Draco sucked in a breath and concentrated on making his voice as loud as possible. “ **YES, IT**  - “

Draco was interrupted by a loud bark of laughter from Potter. Which was followed by another. And another. And another. Draco supposed they  _were_  being a bit ridiculous but there was no need for Potter to lose his cool completely.  He couldn’t very well continue their argument when Potter was laughing.

However Potter had other ideas. “No, it’s not,” he wheezed quietly between laughter. How Potter had gone from shouting to laughing in seconds was completely nonsensical. 

And yet, Draco could feel his own lips quirk upwards into something other than a smirk in response. He quickly controlled himself, reverting to an eye roll instead. Just because Potter was being childish, it didn’t mean Draco had to be too. Although, he still needed to have the last word: “Yes, it is.”

Potter was  _still_ laughing. And it was all a bit unsettling. Potter had never laughed like this around Draco. He had seen Potter laugh with his friends of course, but always from a distance. He’d never been close enough to really hear the sound properly, or see the lines on Potter’s face. And with the vision charm still in effect, he could see every crease line - every ripple across Potter’s face with each bout of laughter. There was something about the way Potter laughed. It was a little too relaxed. A little too free.

And Draco, always the follower, found it catching. His mouth fell open of it’s own accord and let out the smallest huff of breath - a static laugh - before Draco shut it down.  _That_ , at least silenced Potter. His laughter died down and he stared at Draco strangely as if waiting for it to happen again.

But instead of laughing with Harry Potter, his sworn enemy whose guts he hated (he reminded himself), Draco calmly picked up his broomstick and walked away, hoping that neither he, nor Potter, would ever have to speak of the bizarre moment again.


	3. Part Three

Draco was furious. First, that wild animal of Hagrid’s had attacked him - and he still had the sling to prove it even if it wasn’t completely necessary - and second, one of the horrid nifflers that same oaf had brought onto school grounds had ambushed Draco and stolen the shiny Malfoy crest pin right off his robes.

If his father found out he had lost the pin, he would be in the deepest pools of absolute shitville. It was an heirloom worth more than Hagrid’s entire life, if the pathetic hut he had followed the niffler into was any indication.

He could hear the stupid creature - it almost sounded like it was laughing at him - but he couldn’t see it. Where was the damn thing? He cast stunning spells around the cabin recklessly, waiting for the stupid noise to stop so he could rescue his pin. But no matter where he cast, the creature’s laughter continued.

Draco hastily tucked his wand away, picking up one of Hagrid’s oversized chairs instead and throwing it across the room for good measure. “This is not happening,” he muttered to himself. “This is absolute - “

“Caught you at a bad time, Malfoy?” Interrupted a very familiar voice from behind Draco.

“Get stuffed, Potter,” Draco responded without even looking around. “I’m not in the mood to deal with you.” Although he knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. He’d been trashing Potter’s favourite teacher’s house - it was all too likely the encounter would end in a one-handed duel. For the first time, he regretted insisting Madam Pomfrey put his arm in a sling.

Sure enough. Potter jumped straight into accusations: “What do you think you’re doing in here?” There was anger in his voice of course - Potter’s temper was a precarious thing - but glee too - clearly at the excitement of catching Draco out.

Draco swivelled around and leant back on Hagrid’s table - better to be facing his opponent when the first curse was cast. “One of that half-breed’s nifflers is what - “

“His _name_  is Hagrid,” interrupted Potter in the cold, serious voice he reserved for showing off what a flawless, noble prick he was.

“Whatever,” Draco said dismissively, because he knew better than to fight the point when Potter used that voice. Rage fuelled Potter’s power and Draco did not feel like being on the receiving end of a bombarda disguised as an expelliarmus right now. “One of his nifflers has stolen my Malfoy crest pin and if I - “

“You have a  _Malfoy_   _crest pin_?”

Draco didn’t appreciate Potter’s condescending tone so he bit back. “Of course.  _You_  would’t understand since you don’t  _have_  a family.”

Potter didn’t even flinch at the quip. He wandering into the hut, assessing the damage Draco had made. “You really need some new material,” he said calmly over his shoulder as he picked up the thrown chair, but Draco could see the white of Potter’s knuckles quite clearly.

“Perhaps if I wasn’t so busy chasing this stupid niffler, I’d have the time to come up with something witty enough for you, Potter,” Draco retorted, mentally preparing himself to pull out his wand if Potter made a move - it seemed imminent. “Now if you don’t mind, I prefer it if you wandered somewhere else.”

Potter turned back to Draco. This was it. Draco edged his free arm towards the pocket of his robes - towards the safety of his wand. “Hagrid’s a good person, you know.”

Draco dropped his arm. He hadn’t been expecting that. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You  _provoked_ Buckbeak. I know you know it. And now Hagrid might lose his -“

“Have you not seen my arm, Potter?” Interrupted Draco before he could be guilt-tripped - that was Potter’s speciality. “I was  _viciously_  attacked.”

“We both know your arm is completely fine, Malfoy. Stop the act. I’m asking you to have some decency and - “

“Ah,” Draco laughed - Potter was really quite skilled at getting on his noble bloody high horse. “But you seem to have already made up your mind that I have no decency. So why should I bother?”

“What do you care what I think?”

“I don’t,” Draco said quickly. He was just making a point for merlin’s sake - did Potter have to be so…so…urgh.

“You still have time to take it back. Get rid of that stupid sling and apologise.”

“My father already - ”

“Your  _father_  is a-

“Not one more word, Potter!” Draco went for his wand instinctively, his arm jerking his sling open as he reached for - the sling! Shit. He froze, realising what he’d done, and looked up to gauge Potter’s reaction.

Potter didn’t look surprised but worse, he just looked unimpressed. He crossed his arms and stared at Draco with that one static look that made Draco want to fall inside himself and disappear. Draco couldn’t move - not even to return his arm back into the sling. Any move he made would be too telling under Potter’s eye. Why couldn’t Potter just stop staring already?

And then something strange happened - Potter sighed, releasing a long drawn out breath - and when he spoke, it appeared his previous anger had vacated in the same air. “Have you tried coaxing it out with something else valuable?”

It took Draco a couple of seconds to process the question. After all that, they were back to the  _niffler?_ “Like what?”

Potter silently pulled a golden snitch from his pocket and placed it at his feet.

The combination of the snitch and finding himself alone with Potter, drew up a memory of the previous year, one Draco thought he had successfully erased from his head. But no, the faint sound of Potter’s laughter rang in his ears once more. Draco fought hard not to enjoy it.

A husky sniffling sound brought Draco back to the present - the niffler! It had crawled out from underneath Hagrid’s stove and was shuffling to the snitch, making its greedy little noises as it did. Draco reached for his wand - with his uninjured arm this time - but Potter stopped him with a raised hand. Draco obeyed automatically, but immediately wished he hadn’t. Since when did he follow Harry Potter?

Potter waited until the niffler raised a grubby little paw above the snitch before he dropped to the ground with impressive speed, grabbing it with gentle hands.  He turned it upside down and stroked its belly, all the while making the most revolting cooing sounds Draco had ever heard. Is this what Potter was like around  _babies_?

After far too much cooing, a number of shiny objects began to fall from the niffler’s clutches - galleons, necklaces, something that looked exactly like the hair pin Professor McGonagall wore, and there it was - the Malfoy crest. Potter’s hand shot out and caught it before it hit the ground - now he was just showing off. He placed the niffler lightly on the ground - where it promptly picked up the rest of its valuables and scampered behind the stove again - and walked over to Draco.

“Here,” he said, holding out the pin. Draco was sure to take it with his good arm. He needn’t have bothered - Potter didn’t look away from his face, a steely expression on his own. Oh merlin - Draco already knew there was something preachy coming. And: “You don’t have to be your father, you know. We don’t choose our family.”

Draco blinked back at Potter as his hands closed over the pin. He should have been angry at the audacity of Potter to comment on his family, but he couldn’t work up the energy for a fight. So he just took his family crest back from Potter’s hand silently, an automatic thank you dying before it reached his lips.

Potter waited there a moment as if expecting Draco to reply - but how was he supposed to reply to something like that? When enough time had passed in silence to make the moment truly awkward, Potter shrugged and walked to the door.

“Wait, Potter - “

“Yes?” Potter turned around immediately.

Shit. Malfoy hadn’t meant to say anything. How had that even come out of his mouth? And he certainly hadn’t expected Potter to stop. Shit. Potter was looking at him expectantly. Draco found himself trapped between the way he wanted to act and how he was supposed to act around Harry Potter. He hadn’t felt like that since the day he - wait. “What day is it?”

Potter looked at him strangely.  “Wednesday? November Third? Why do you - “

November Third.  _The day I beat you_. It was a coincidence. It had to be. But still, something seemed off. On every other day, Draco never felt like this. Never felt anything other than hatred towards Potter. They were arch enemies. That was how it should be. This was wrong. Like he’d been cursed. Which didn’t make sense unless -

“I don’t know what you’ve done to me, Potter, but I’m not having a bar of it.” Draco pushed past Potter and made his own dramatic exit before Potter could continue his.

November Third. It couldn’t have any significance. Really. That was absurd. It was just Potter. Being his usual do-gooder self, trying to get Draco to  _feel_  something. Merlin. He needed to stay away from Potter.  _Every_ day of the year. Or he was going to lose his mind.


	4. Part Four

By fourth year, Draco was wary of November third. Potter had a knack of pulling unwanted emotions out of Draco; envy, rage, and exactly a year ago, something else too. And whatever it was, Draco didn’t like it. It messed with the natural order of things. It messed with his straight forward arch-rival status with Potter.

Draco wasn’t particularly superstitious or paranoid, but that didn’t mean he had to take any chances. He decided last night when he lay in his bed unable to sleep that he wouldn’t go to classes today. That he’d stay within the safety of his dormitory until November third was well and truly over. He and Potter were in a good place - at a peak level of antagonism and rivalry. Draco wasn’t going to do anything to ruin that.  

Of course, Pansy came to find him when he didn’t show up for breakfast. He should have expected that. She strode down into Draco’s dormitory without any regard for privacy, but she had also brought an apple, and Draco was starving so he let it slide.

“We don’t even have anything due today,” she commented, passing over the apple. “Why are you pretending to be sick?”

“Maybe I  _am_  sick,” Draco attempted half-heartedly, inspecting the apple. It had a bruise. He placed it on his nightstand. He wasn’t  _that_  hungry.

Pansy sat on the foot of Draco’s bed - forcing Draco to pull his legs up to his chin or be squashed. “If you were sick, we would all know it. Last time you had a cold, you said you were dying.”

“I might have been.”

Pansy ignored that. “So what is going on?”

Draco hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much he should share with Pansy. If it was all in his head, which he suspected it might be, it might sound a little…obsessive. And he wasn’t  _obsessing_ over Potter. He was just trying to  _avoid_ Potter. There was a distinct difference. Still, Pansy might be some help if he kept it as vague as possible. “How many times does something need to happen for it not to be coincidence?”

“ _Draco_ , I didn’t come down here for riddles. Tell me what is going on.”

He should have known that wouldn’t work. He tried again. “There’s this person…and I keep talking to them on the same day every year.”

“Wow,” Pansy deadpanned. “That’s so strange. It’s almost like you go to school and talk to the same people every day.”

Draco resisted the urge to hex Pansy. “Not  _just_  talked,” he clarified, trying to work out how to put his thoughts, his  _feelings_ , into words.  “I mean, I talk to them other times too. But not…It’s just when I talk to him on…this particular day…I, you know, feel things too.”

“You _feel_  things?” Pansy repeated, her face lighting up - that was never a good sign. “Like a tingly feeling in your - “

“PANSY,” Draco yelled before Pansy could finish. “Not like that at all.” Like he’d feel  _that_  for Potter.

Pansy’s face dropped. “Then, what? You’re not being particularly descriptive.”

“There’s nothing else to say! I don’t know. It’s like,” Draco said, feeling more and more foolish with every word he spoke, “it feels almost like it’s  _supposed_ to be that way. That I have no control over it.”

“Like fate?” Pansy asked.

“Yes, like fate, but not,” Draco clarified. He didn’t really know.

Pansy gasped. “You know, I think that you might have a threefold twin bond."

Draco leant forward. “What the fuck is a threefold twin bond?”

Pansy smiled gleefully - she always liked knowing things Draco didn’t. “Some people think that everyone has  _three_ crucial fated relationships in their lives - an enemy, a lover and a best friend. Most people have a twin bond - where their lover is also their best friend.  A _threefold_  twin bond is when not  _only_  is the same person your lover and best friend, they’re  _also_  your enemy.’

“What’s that got to do with the date? And why isn’t that just called a triple bond then?”

Pansy shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because a triple bond sounds like a threesome or something. So who are we talking about anyway?” She asked in an attempted casual manner that was anything but. “Potter?”

“No, of course not. He’s not my best friend,” Draco said quickly. “Or my lover,” he added hastily after seeing Pansy’s eyebrows raise. “He’s my enemy. He’s  _just_ my enemy. “

“ _Convincing._ ”

Draco ignored Pansy’s taunt and focused on her theory. A threefold twin bond. It sounded ridiculous. But what if she was right? What if the universe kept throwing Potter at him because they were destined to be together, as much as they were destined to be enemies? “So how do you know if you have a threefold twin bond then?”

Pansy jumped up from the bed, a victorious smile on her face. “I knew it! You have a thing for Potter.”

“I do not!” Draco said, quickly defending himself. It wasn’t his fault if he was destined to be with Potter, and it certainly didn’t have any bearing on his current feelings.

Pansy cackled. “A threefold twin bond doesn’t exist, Draco. I just made it up.”

Draco’s stomach tightened. “Why would you - what the  _fuck_ Pans?” Now he  _really_  wanted to hex her.

“It got you thinking though, didn’t it?” Pansy said unashamedly with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows.

Draco looked away but he could just feel her staring at him with that horrible knowing smile. “I hate you.”

Pansy just laughed at that. She obviously didn’t understand how close she was to being hexed. “So are you coming?”

“No.” Draco crossed his arms. “If I don’t leave the dormitory, I can’t talk to Potter and I won’t - “

“Have any of those special feelings?” Interrupted Pansy.

Draco ignored her. “I just need to prove the date has no significance is all. Just one day without contact and then I can put this to bed once and for all.”

“Or put  _Potter_ to bed,” Pansy suggested.

Draco turned back to her, only to offer his best scowl. It didn’t seem to phase Pansy one bit.

“Couldn’t you just spend the day not talking to Potter?”

“No,” Draco said. Like it was that easy. “He’s bound to say something irritating and I’m bound to have to correct him.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Suit yourself, lover boy.” She swivelled around Draco’s bed post and made for the door. “But I’m not taking notes for you in class.”

“I wouldn’t want them anyway.”

Pansy stuck up her middle finger behind her as she left.

Now Draco just had to wait out another 15 hours in his dorm until November third was officially over and he’d be able to prove to himself that the date meant nothing at all. It would be tiresome but well worth - 

Draco jumped back on his bed as a body crashed through the ceiling, falling to the floor at the foot of his bed. Draco’s head jerked up automatically to assess the damage - there was none - the ceiling remained intact. But that didn’t explain what, or who had just dropped from it. He crawled forward on his bed to lean his head dover the edge and -

Harry fucking Potter.

Harry Potter had literally fallen into his dormitory. On November third.

Draco fell back onto his pillow and screwed his eyes shut. “Oh fucking Merlin. It’s real.”

“Malfoy?”

Draco reluctantly opened his eyes to a slightly confused looking and very flushed Potter looking down at him. Beads of sweat were sprinkled across his hairline as if he’d been running for some time - and not just falling from ceilings. 

“I can explain,” he offered.

Draco had to hold back a laugh. This whole situation was ridiculous and Draco was already over it. “I’m sure you can.”

“I was trying to get away from these Durmstrang girls and they cornered me and I was just thinking I wish I could disappear and then I fell through the floor. Your - er - ceiling I guess.”

Draco sat up. “You didn’t cast anything?”

“No."

“And you weren’t holding your wand?”

“No.”

Draco fell back into bed. “Fuck you, Potter.” Was November Third here to make him feel like shit? Because if so, it was doing a great job.

“What?” Potter asked, like he didn’t know. Like he fell through floors all the times. Like it was no big deal.

“You know  _what_! You just have to be effortlessly good at everything. You just have to fall through the bloody ceiling. You just have to be…” Draco trailed off, realising he’d been about to tell his arch enemy he was perfect.

“Be what?” Potter prompted.

“The worst person ever,” Draco said instead, realising immediately afterwards that he sounded like a petulant child. Great. Thanks November third.

Potter laughed at him, because what else could go wrong today? The universe clearly hated Draco.

“Aren’t you  _going_?” Draco asked, unable to keep the sulkiness out of his tone.

“I was kind of hoping to hide from the incoherent screams for a while.”

It figured.

"I can scream at you if it will make you go away,” Draco offered, staring at the ceiling. Although, what was the point? He clearly had no choice but to spend time with his rival today. That had been made very clear when despite Draco’s best efforts to avoid him, Potter had  _literally_ fallen from said ceiling. “Don’t you have class?”

“Don’t  _you_?” Potter countered.

“Yes.”

There was silence for a moment. Draco already knew he didn’t have nearly enough luck for Potter to simply have left, but he had to check all the same. He lifted his head - and was out of his bed in a flash.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Draco demanded, stepping between Potter and his trunk. He couldn’t have Potter going through his things, his clothes, his  _underwear,_  for merlin’s sake. “Still not used to having your own clothes?”

Potter blinked back at Draco with a puzzled look. Draco realised too late that Potter would have no recollection of sharing that particular tidbit with Draco back in first year. He also had no business remembering it himself.

“I was thinking,” Potter said, obviously deciding to shake off Draco’s jab, “I could disguise myself as a Slytherin to safely get past the Durmstrang students.”

“You’re not wearing my clothes.”

“Or I could stay here all day,” Potter suggested with faux sweetness. He really was more cunning than people gave him credit for.

“Fine,” Draco snapped, turning to his trunk to fetch his uniform, “But I want it back. Cleaned.”

Draco pulled out his school jumper and tie and handed them to Potter quickly. The sooner he got away from Potter on this blasted day the better. Although he wouldn’t be surprised if Potter disappeared only to fall from the ceiling again.

Draco kept his eyes averted while Potter changed - it was only a jumper and a tie - but what was he going to do - stare at his arch enemy while he undressed and redressed? No. So when he was finally able to look up, and see Potter wearing the Slytherin crest and green tie, he choked on his own spit, he was so surprised.

Potter looked good. No, he looked like he could  _belong_  in Slytherin. Which was ridiculous. Potter was such a Gryffindor. A noble, self-righteous little shit. But merlin, he looked so right in green. Maybe it was the eyes. Oh shit, Draco had been caught staring.

Draco cleared his throat. “Brilliant disguise, Potter,” he said sarcastically. “How could anyone notice the glasses or the scar when you’re wearing a green tie?”

Potter rolled his eyes and pulled out his wand. Draco reflexively took a step back. But Potter only tapped his glasses, transfiguring them into narrow rectangular frames, far more stylish than the big round spectacles he usually wore - although somehow far less flattering. “How about now?” He asked.

It’s not going to work, Potter,” Draco pointed out. “Your hair; it’s just too - “ wild, like you - “ _distinctive_.”

Potter ran a hand through his messy hair - as Draco had seen him do a million times before. Usually right before eating. And right after flying. And in the middle of class when - well, it didn’t particular matter. Draco had just seen it before is all.

“I don’t suppose you have a hat I could borrow?”

And so Draco was forced to witness Harry Potter in a fucking beret. Like the green tie hadn’t been enough. Like the execution of wandless, wordless magic hadn’t already blown Draco’s mind. As he finally shooed Harry Potter, his supposed  _enemy_  out of his dorm, Draco realised that maybe, just maybe, Pansy knew more than he gave her credit for.

But he was still going to make sure she got what was coming to her. Threefold twin bonds. That  _bitch._


	5. Part Five

Draco wasn’t so certain how he felt about November third anymore. He’d come to terms with his unconventional feelings for Potter, or at least as well as anyone could, in the middle of a brewing war, when you liked the opposing side’s saviour. But that didn’t mean he could act on them. What it really meant was that every small bit of hope he held onto to left him even more thoroughly fucked.

He didn’t bother trying to avoid Potter this year - last year had proved that completely pointless. So he was surprised, and a little bit disappointed if he was honest with himself, that nothing of note happened in class. Potter didn’t look his way, didn’t say anything remotely preachy, didn’t, you know, fall from the ceiling at any time.

That night, after dinner in the Great Hall - during which Potter never even looked at him (Draco could tell because he was staring almost the entire time) - Draco figured he’d return to his dormitory to find Potter sitting on his bed or something equally as ridiculous.

And as much as he was looking forward to and simultaneously dreading that, he wasn’t quite ready to face it. So he ducked into the kitchens on the way down to the dungeons to delay the inevitable, not even considering - although he really should have - that he’d be running right into Potter.

“Master Malfoy!” shouted a high-pitched voice as soon as he entered. “Master Malfoy! Dobby is pleased to see you.”

“You don’t have to call me that,” Draco reminded him. He didn’t much like sharing the same title as his father, and he certainly wasn’t Dobby’s master anymore.

“Guess who is here?” Dobby asked without waiting for an answer. Even before they turned the corner - it was obvious who would it would be. “Your friend, Harry Potter.”

Potter looked up as they entered. As it turned out, delaying the inevitable was not an option. “Potter’s not my friend,” Draco quickly corrected, before Potter got any ideas.

Unfortunately, Dobby didn’t quite get the hint. “But you’re always talking so highly of - “

“Shut  _up_ , Dobby.”

“But you said - “

Draco turned to Dobby and, in desperation, said the only thing he knew would work without fail. “I order you to shut up.”

It did.

Potter, of course, wasn’t impressed. “You’re a free elf now, you don’t have to listen to him,” he said to Dobby in a gentle voice before turning to Draco and fixing him with a chilly look.

“I didn’t mean - whatever, Potter.” Draco waved a hand dismissively. “You’re not supposed to be in here. I could dock points.” He gestured to his prefect badge lamely. Merlin - why did he have to always act like a total prat around Potter? No wonder Potter hated his guts.

“Then what are  _you_  doing here?” Potter challenged.

Draco’s eyes dropped to the mug in Potter’s hand. “Same as you, I guess.”

“I’m not finished,” Potter said unnecessarily.

“ _Clearly._ ”

“I’m not leaving.”

Draco held back a snort. Of course Potter wasn’t leaving. It was November the effing third. “Neither am I.”

“Fine.”

“Fine,” Draco repeated, mimicking Potter’s childish tone, which, in turn, probably made Draco look like the childish one. Good grief.

Dobby tugged at Draco’s sleeve. “Is Master - Mister Malfoy wanting tea?”

“Yes please, Dobby,” he said politely dropping into the chair across from Potter’s, although knowing Potter, the golden boy probably wouldn’t be impressed unless he made his own tea. Well, stuff it. Potter was just too bloody hard to please.

“Rough day bullying some first years?” Potter asked, when Dobby was out of earshot. Potter had been very good at picking fights this year - usually Draco had to carry the extra weight. So it was a shame that Draco was starting to find their fights less exhilarating and more exhausting lately.

“Don’t engage in small talk, Potter,” Draco chided, “it’s common.”

Thankfully, Potter didn’t have a retort for that. It was better when Draco got the last word. Except right now he didn’t really have the option for a dramatic exit, since he’d committed to tea and also, you know, it was  _that_ day where any escape seemed futile.

So having the last word really just meant the privilege to sit in painful silence. Usually Draco enjoyed silence. Especially with his tea. But those silences didn’t usually include Potter only a few feet away, making anything else, any other thoughts he might like to have, completely impossible to focus on. And there was really only so much of that Draco could take.

“Do you come here often?” He asked, without thinking, to fill the silence. Too late, he realised exactly what that sounded like.

“Do I come here  _often_? Malfoy, are you - “

“No - merlin!” Draco quickly cut Potter off. “I meant, it might be wise to work out each others’ schedules so we don’t bump into each other in the kitchen again.”

Potter placed his mug gently on the table -  _without_  a coaster Draco noticed. “I’m not planning my kitchen trips around you,” he said sharply. "If my company bothers you, then you can find somewhere else to get tea.”

‘Bothers’ was the wrong word. It didn’t really capture the intensity of which Draco enjoyed Potter’s company despite the fact that it also left him in complete and irreversible agony. But Draco was hardly going to point that out.

“You’re in a mood,” Draco observed, watching Potter stare into his tea, having made no move to pick it up again.

“I’m always in a mood around you,” Potter said to his mug, twirling it around on the table.

Draco snorted at Potter’s dramatics. But he could sympathise.

Dobby returned, handing Draco a mug identical to Potter’s. “Your tea.”

“Thank you, Dobby.”

After summoning a coaster - he wasn’t an animal - and placing his hot mug down, Draco looked up to find Potter giving him a strange look. “What?”

“I’ve never heard you say thank you before.”

Potter was far too surprised than the situation warranted - did he really think  _that_ poorly of Draco? “I have better manners than you,” Draco pointed out. He resisted the urge to bring up Potter’s lack of coaster. That may have come across a little  _too_ petty.

“But you don’t often use them,” Potter countered. Which was untrue of course.

Draco didn’t bother arguing - Potter was never going to see him clearly anyway. So he just shrugged and deflected - a Draco Malfoy speciality.  “Why would I waste them on unimportant people?”

Potter didn’t like that. He pushed his mug away with more force than strictly necessary. “You’re a real asshole, you know?”

“Oh no, Potter. You’ve hurt my feelings,“ Draco said sarcastically despite the truth in his words. Potter had quite a power over Draco’s feelings.

“Whatever, Malfoy. Like you even have feelings.”

“I do so have feelings. In fact I - “ Draco stopped himself before he could blab his feelings for Potter,  to Potter, just to prove a point to Potter. He needed to keep his priorities in check.

“You…?“ Potter prompted, waiting to hear Draco’s ill-thought out confession.

“I…” Draco panicked. “…have a lot of feelings,” he finished feebly.

“You have a lot feelings,” Potter repeated blankly.

“Yes.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “I’m glad that I’ve been privy to this insightful analysis of Draco Malfoy.”

Draco felt the need to defend himself. “There’s a lot of things about me you don’t know.”

Potter raised his eyebrows. “Such as?”

Draco blanked. He couldn’t think of a single thing, except the obvious. Which of course he couldn’t tell Potter.

“You have a lot of feelings?” Potter suggested, a smile on his face, half smug half playful, and completely endearing. 

It was especially hard not to smile in response to a smile as delightful as that, so Draco settled on something as close to a smirk as he could manage. “Shut up, Potter,” he said, but he needn’t have bothered as Potter paid it no mind.

“And you like tea,” Potter added, suddenly the expert on Draco.

“I love tea,” Draco corrected.

“And here I was thinking you drank the blood of newborn muggles.” Potter said and then laughed. At his own joke. Merlin.

Draco kept his face blank and blinked at Potter innocently. “I’m sorry, is that supposed to be funny?”

Potter laughed again, that frustratingly beautiful sound. “Shut up, Malfoy.”

It wasn’t much of a conversation. No barriers had been broken. And at the end of the day, they were still enemies. But Potter hadn’t left yet despite having finished his tea much earlier. And there shouldn’t have been anything significant to read into that, but Draco did anyway. Because all he had was hope. Hope and November third.


	6. Part Six

Draco knew Potter would come. In some ways, he was relieved about his lack of choice in the matter. If it wasn’t his choice, then he wasn’t doing anything wrong. But on the other hand, any time spent with Potter, would only make all the time away from him harder. And there was so much more time away from him.

Draco had chosen the Astronomy Tower for a few reasons. First and foremost, he loved watching the stars, and if he was going to talk to Potter, then he should at least have something to stare at other than his face. There was also a bitter part of Draco - the part that was still convinced this was all Potter’s fault somehow - that just wanted to make the boy who lived hike up all those stairs just to see him.

Although, Potter didn’t seem to understand who he was hiking those stairs for. At least, Draco didn’t think he had realised the significance of November third yet as he didn’t seem as resigned to their fate as Draco was. And when he finally made an appearance at the top of the Astronomy Tower, his first reaction was surprise.

“What are you doing up here?”

“Playing Quidditch,” Draco replied drily, not bothering to glance at Potter. He knew what the bastard looked like perfectly, and he didn’t need to be reminded. In his position on the floor, looking up at the stars, he wouldn’t have to see Potter at all during their encounter unless Potter stood exactly -

Potter stood exactly above Draco and looked down at him, blocking his view of the night sky, and impeding it with everything Draco wished to avoid.

“Do you mind?” Draco snapped, closing his eyes. He felt Potter’s weight shift against the floorboards, moving back immediately, but he kept his eyes closed just in case.

“You don’t look like you’re playing Quidditch.”

Draco regretted closing his eyes if only so he could roll them at Potter.  “With a brain like that, perhaps you should have been in Ravenclaw.”

“What are you doing up here, Malfoy?” Potter asked again.

“Stargazing, obviously.”

“Your eyes are closed,” Potter pointed out.

Draco held back a number of less savoury comments before settling on: “I was  _interrupted_.”

Potter didn’t say anything for a moment. With his eyes closed, the silence felt longer for Draco. He couldn’t decipher what Potter was doing - until he felt a heavy weight next to him. Draco’s eyes jerked open in surprise. Potter was lying next to him.

There were some very choice words Draco would have liked to use to describe the situation but he didn’t think Potter would appreciate such language and he wasn’t in the mood to be reprimanded. So he tightened his lips and stared straight up into the sky, trying to imagine Harry Potter wasn’t right there beside him. Which was going alright up until the point Potter decided to talk again - Draco should have known he wasn’t going to get away with a peaceful November third.

“So,  _this_ is stargazing,” Potter announced, with all the enthusiasm of a dried up waterfall.

“You’re bored,  _already?”_ Draco didn’t expect Potter to have the same appreciation for astrology as he did but it hadn’t even been a minute. He should have realised Potter had the patience of a toddler.

“Well, all the stars look the same.”

This time, Draco did have the pleasure of rolling his eyes. “See that star there,” he pointed, “and the stars that curve around underneath it to the right, like a hook?”

“Uh…”

“And then they lead up to those five offshoots there?” Draco traced the pattern with his hand.

“No… wait, kind of…YES I SEE IT!” Potter shouted with sudden excitement.

Draco laughed - not even bothering to hide it. Stuff pretences. It was November third. “That’s Scorpius.”

Against his better judgment, Draco snuck a look at Potter out of the corner of his eye. His eyes were roaming the sky, exactly as they did the Quidditch pitch, searching for patterns with fresh excitement.

Draco refocused on the sky, trying to find another simple constellation that Potter would be able to pick out. Before he could -

“What about Draco?"

Draco flinched at the sound of his name, his first name, coming out of Potter’s mouth. It was strange, but not entirely unwelcome. Except Draco couldn’t even enjoy it properly, because he knew it would never happen again.

“It’s a constellation, isn’t it?” Potter probed when Draco didn’t say anything.

“I - I didn’t think you’d know,” Draco covered up the tremble in his voice with a quick cough. “I’m not sure actually. I can’t see it tonight.”

“Is it hard to spot?”

Draco scanned the sky, searching for the constellation he had seen so many times before. “Not usually.”

“Knox,” Potter suddenly whispered, killing the lights of the Astronomy Tower. When Potter spoke next, Draco could tell he was looking at Draco’s profile. Draco pretended not to notice. “Sometimes when there’s too much light,” Potter said, his voice taking on a more serious tone than earlier, “it makes it harder for stars to shine.”

Draco’s chest clenched uncomfortably and there was a tightness at the back of his throat he couldn’t quite shake. “Since when were you the expert on stars?” He retorted as casually as he could manage. He didn’t want Potter to know how much his words had affected him.

“Everybody knows that,” Potter replied, just as casually.

Draco searched for the constellation again but still couldn’t pick the pattern. “One light isn’t going to make a difference.”

“Not with that attitude.”’

Draco smiled at the tease. Beneath his hothead and impatience, there was something very gentle about Potter. He was a difficult person to hate. And stargazing wasn’t really the best activity to reinforce that hated.

Draco suddenly worried that perhaps he had been giving off some terrible (even though accurate) signals, by allowing Potter to stargaze with him. It was oddly friendly and even, romantic. And he couldn’t have Potter getting the wrong idea.

“I don’t like you, Potter,” Draco quickly clarified, just to clear up any confusion.

Potter laughed at him - which probably wasn’t the best sign. “I don’t like you either, Malfoy.”

“Good,” Draco said. It had been what he’d wanted to hear. So why did it make him feel slightly nauseous? “That’s…good.”

Potter laughed again - that wonderful sound that Draco didn’t have any right knowing about. “Glad we cleared that up,” he said. Another tease. “If you can’t see Draco, what else can you show me?”

Once again, his name on Potter’s lips, stirred up something in Draco that was far better left hidden. He regained his composure and showed Potter a few more constellations. Leo, of course, he thought that might interest Potter. Gemini, he  _hoped_  that might interest Potter. As well as the easy ones like Orion and the Ursas.

He tried not to look at Potter too much. One night was far too much time to spend with Potter but even so, it would never be enough. November third seemed to sneak up on Draco much too fast, and end even quicker. But each time, he found himself falling in deeper.

Draco cast a tempus charm just before midnight. He didn’t quite know what would happen if he stayed beside Potter all the way into November fourth, but he wasn’t keen to find out. It couldn’t be good. Without the day guiding them, Potter and Draco were only enemies. And enemies didn’t stargaze together.

So with the next ordinary day fast approaching, Draco abruptly stood up, dusting off the back of his robes. He didn’t look down in Potter’s direction. He couldn’t stand to see whatever expression would be there - surprise, disappointment, confusion, anger? It didn’t matter.

Draco walked out before he could give into temptation to change his mind and look. But when Potter called out after him, with a bitter “Bye, then, Malfoy,” his disappointment was clear anyway. Draco felt the same, of course, but it was useless. Not with what he had already planned for this year. He didn’t bother to respond.


	7. Part Seven

Draco woke up early. Potter would be back today. He had to be. It was November third. It would all be over soon. Potter would make sure of that.

But Potter didn’t storm into the Great Hall during breakfast. He didn’t overtake the castle during classes. In fact, there was no sign of him or his friends at all. But Potter  _had_  to show up. Draco had been waiting for it ever since Potter skipped the Hogwarts Express at the start of term. Draco knew he’d only have to wait a couple of months. That’s what had kept him going all this time.

But still, no Potter. Was he waiting until after curfew to sneak into the castle? Did he need help?

Draco knew he didn’t have to seek out Potter - that he would come to him by the end of the day regardless of Draco’s actions. Fourth year had pretty much proved that. But the waiting! It was impossible. And Draco had one terrible thought he didn’t dare let stay in his head for more than one fleeting second at a time. What if Harry Potter was dead?

Draco paced the castle restlessly. He knew it was silly and completely pointless, but he was searching as he went, as if Potter would just be strolling down the corridor like any other year. It was as he was pacing the seventh floor when he heard someone behind him. Before he could turn around to face the person he hoped was Potter, a jolt hit him square in the back sending him face forward into the floor.

A burning pain danced throughout Draco’s body - a nasty stinging jinx - before settling in his left forearm. It wasn’t unusual - for Draco to be hexed, or for the pain to concentrate around his dark mark. The magic within the mark was still very much alive, and it was always reacting to other magic passing through it, the harsh lines pushing to the surface of Draco’s skin with a draining energy. Draco had learned to manage it when he cast his own spells, but getting hit with them was another story.

With the pain still radiating in his arm, Draco pulled himself into a sitting position and slumped against the corridor wall. If it was a stinging jinx like Draco suspected, then it would have been one of Potter’s Gryffindor crew. They’d grown rather audacious in their saviour’s absence.

_Just where the fuck are you, Potter?_ Draco thought to himself in frustration. 

He didn’t expect another voice to answer back.

**_Malfoy?_ **

_Potter!_ Draco recognised the voice immediately. He looked around but the corridor was empty. _Where are you?_

**_Me? Where are_ you?**

_What do you_  - It was then that Draco realised he hadn’t said anything out loud.  _Oh shit, Potter’s in my brain._

**_No, you’re in_ my _brain. What are you doing? Are you spying on me?_**

_That sounds far more like your game, Potter. And if I was going to spy on you, I’d at least try and get a decent visual as well so I could - wait, are you hearing everything I think?_

**_I’m not sure. Try thinking something you don’t want me to hear. If I can hear him, then he can hear me. I can’t think about the horcruxes. Don’t think about the hor-_ **

_Don’t think about the horcruxes. That’s your big legilimency trick?_

**_So we_ are _hearing everything._**

_Not anymore, I’ve closed you off._

**_You’ve closed me off?  How did you do that? Teach me how to do that. He always was better at the intellectual stuff, the poncy -_ **

_I can hear you, Potter._

**_Then help me stop it please before I start thinking about something inappropriate like how - please stop me Malfoy - like how - no don’t think about anything dirty - don’t even think about -_ **

_Potter! What the fuck. I thought you were out there trying to destroy The Dark - He Who Must Not Be Named - and it sounds like you’re just hiding in some bushes somewhere wanking like a horny teenager._

**_I AM a horny teenager. I mean, I am a teenager. Help me filter things here. I am trying to destroy Voldemort. I have a plan but I can’t tell you - Dumbledore trusted me not to tell anyone. If Voldemort finds out about the locket I -_ **

_Wait, Potter. No, you can’t tell me this. I can’t know this. I don’t want to ruin anything. Look, you just need to focus your thoughts and the thoughts you want to say to me as two separate entities. When there’s a thought you want me to hear, visualise yourself saying it - move your mouth if you must. Don’t overthink the other thoughts - just let them sit in the background like they usually do._

**_Don’t overthink my thoughts? How can I not overthink my thoughts? That’s the point of thoughts. To think about them! And the more I think about you sharing my thoughts, the more I think about the thoughts I don’t want you to hear, and that’s bad because if you find out how I -_ **

_Are you visualising, Potter, or are you just shouting every bloody thought in your head?_

**_I’m not shouting -_ **

_Your internal monologue is incredibly loud. Perhaps if you were to try toning the volume down a bit, it would be easier to control yourself._

**_I can’t control -_ **

_Visualise, Potter. Separate our conversation from your thoughts. It’s not hard._

**_Hard._ **

_Are you doing it? Is that you doing it?_

**_Hard._ **

_Yes, well it seems like you’ve got it well under control now. I can just tell we’ll be having some really stimulating conversation if you keep this up._

**_Can’t. Hard._ **

_Alright, breathe. You’re definitely overthinking this. You’re suppressing your thoughts too much. You should still be able to form sentences._

**_I’m. Trying. Why...is this happening?_ **

_There you go. I’m not sure. Someone cursed me with a stinging hex, it reacted with my dark mark and then I could hear you -_ after calling out for you desperately, Draco finished privately to himself.

**_Who was it? A student? When I’m done with Voldemort, I’m coming straight for that coward and -_ **

_Whoa, whoa, Potter. Calm down. Visualise. Hold it in._

**_I meant to say all that. Who?_ **

_I don’t know who. And you don’t need to rescue me Potter, as much as I’d enjoy it, I’m quite fine._

**_You’d_ enjoy _it?_**

_That was - I’m slipping up. You weren’t supposed to hear that part._

**_See? It’s hard._ **

_You seem to have gotten the hang of it._

**_Not really. I’m still worried I’m going to say something embarrassing like penis -_ **

_I’m sorry, what was that?_

**_Nothing._ **

_Why would you accidentally say penis?_

**_I don’t know. Because I’m trying not to think embarrassing things which makes me think about them._ **

_So you’re telling me this whole time, you’ve been trying to hold back “penis”?_

**_Not just penis._ **

_Dick?_

**_No._ **

_Cock?_

**_No. Malfoy -_ **

_Well, what is it, Potter? I’m regretting teaching you how to control your thoughts if it means I’m missing out on such colourful fantasies._

**_I never said fantasies._ **

_You did say you were a horny teenager. I should have known._

**You _were the one who said I was a horny teenager._**

_And you agreed. You know, I think I like you better without a filter._

**_So you dislike me just a little less._ **

_Yes, that’s it._

**_You’re full of shit, Malfoy. Sorry - I didn’t mean to say that._ **

_You don’t know what you’re talking about._

**_Well, we’re not exactly_ talking.**

_Semantics, Potter. You might not be competent at keeping your thoughts to yourself, but that doesn’t mean you have any understanding of mine._

**_I’m not surprised that you’re so good at keeping your thoughts closed off to me, actually. You’re quite practiced in dishonesty._ **

_Right, I see, Potter. Would you prefer me to bombard you with thoughts about penises? Is that the honesty I should aspire to?_

**_That was just an_ example _of a_ potential  _embarrassing thing to mention, I wasn’t actually thinking about anyone’s p -_**

_You were thinking about mine, Potter. Just admit it so we can move on._

**_Well, actually you arrogant prick, I wasn’t. But_ now _I am. Wait._**

_Sorry, Potter, I don’t think you can take that one back. So, you might as well explain exactly what you’re picturing._

**_I’ve never seen your penis, Malfoy. Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to explain it?_ **

_Are you asking me to describe my penis to you? Are you curious? Is that it? Never seen someone else’s dick before?_

**_Of course I’ve seen other dicks. Come to think of it,_ you’re _a dick, Malfoy. And it seems like you’re the one that’s eager to discuss yours, so don’t let me stop you._**

_Subtle. So I suppose you don’t want to know that my dick’s been half hard ever since you agreed you were a horny teenager?_

**_Jesus, Malfoy, I’m hard t-_ **

Potter’s voice cut off unnaturally.

_Potter? Potter!_

Draco looked down at his arm. The dark mark had faded back into his skin and the stinging sensation had reduced to a dull ache - a reminder of the pain. It would seem as if his expected and yet impromptu time with Potter was over for the day. And now he had a charming erection to deal with. On his own.  _Fuck you, November third._

And far worse, Potter wasn’t here. The day Draco had been dreaming about for months wasn’t the salvation he thought it would be. But talking to Potter, at least, renewed Draco’s hope.  Yes, Potter wasn’t back. But he was alive. And there was no doubt that he would come eventually. Horny teenager or not, Harry Potter always saved the day.


	8. Part Eight

Draco didn’t want to play. But it was an hour until November third. And he knew something was bound to happen with Potter anyway. Better it be under the disguise of a game than something with more weight. They’d never addressed their unconventional conversation the previous year. Understandably, it had been lost amongst greater concerns, what with Harry Potter saving the world and all, not to mention Draco’s life.

It was a game of truth or dare, but, somebody (bloody Pansy) had brought enough veritaserum for everyone. So the stakes were raised.

Draco had already decided there was no way he was choosing truth. That no matter how awful a dare, there could be nothing more awful than being forced to reveal the truth of his feelings. Because that was the only question anyone ever asked in these stupid games. And Draco wasn’t a fool.

But before he was given the spotlight, the content of the dares made the choice a little bit harder. Draco wasn’t fussed that Weasley had been dared to take off his pants or that Pansy had already kissed Luna twice - once on her turn when she dared Luna to kiss her, and then once on Luna’s turn when Luna did the same thing back. (It was technically against the rules to dare someone who had already had their turn - but with Pansy in charge, no one was going to question it.)

What Draco  _was_ fussed by, was the dare Potter received from Seamus just after midnight. (The traitor - Draco had thought they’d become good friends this year.) 

“I dare you,” Seamus said without even asking Potter his preference - no one was picking truth anyway, “to give Draco a hickey.”

Draco’s head darted over to see Potter’s reaction so fast, he thought he might have given himself whiplash. Potter was already staring back at him too.

The room was silent - for once - as everyone waited to see how Potter would respond. He could always say no. Pansy had made it clear at the start of the game that anyone could, and should feel free to leave at any time without any repercussions. The veritaserum had been optional too, but no one wanted to be the only one who refused -  _not_ drinking it would be telling in itself. 

Draco waited impatiently, scanning Potter’s face for any tell of how he might choose. Potter was still staring back - not giving away anything. Until he raised an eyebrow - as if asking Draco:  _Is this okay?_

Draco shifted his head in the slightest nod - that he hoped no one else would notice - to confirm his consent. He kept his face impassive so Potter wouldn’t mistake his willingness for eagerness, despite the fact that it totally was.

“Okay,” Potter said quietly to Seamus. “I’ll do it.”

Immediately, the room buzzed up again, with chatter and wolf whistles, courtesy of Blaise - and did that one come from  _Granger?_ Potter stood up, and the buzz softened.

Everyone watched as Potter walked across the circle to Draco, wiping his hands on his jeans. Draco didn’t move. Perhaps it would have been proper to meet Potter in the middle of the circle, but he was frozen. All he could do was let Potter come to him.

Potter had to drop to his knees to meet Draco where he sat cross-legged on the floor. Potter hadn’t even touched him yet, and Draco’s heart was already pounding against his chest. How was he suppose to sit through the whole process of a hickey without giving himself away? Acting disinterested required concentrated effort. And it was hard to concentrate on anything other than Potter’s lips which would soon be -

“Where?” Potter asked, turning away from Draco to address Seamus.

“I’m sure my neck will suffice, Potter.” Draco responded quickly, worried Seamus might decide on a location far too mortifying for an audience. He was a dirty bastard.

Potter turned back to Draco and fixed him with a look of determination. It was the same face he wore when duelling and the fact he was wearing it now, to give Draco a hickey, was a little arousing. No, who was Draco kidding? It was incredibly arousing. And still, Potter hadn’t touched him.

Potter leant forward, and placed his arms on the floor either side of Draco, trapping him in place - which was not unwelcome. And then his head ducked down to Draco’s neck and hovered there - his breath against Draco’s skin already causing goosebumps. Potter  _still hadn’t touched him._

And that was the problem. Potter just hovered there, unmoving, certainly not producing a hickey, but causing Draco’s body to spark to attention all the same. It was unbearable.

“Get on with it, then,” Draco tried to snap, but his voice came out much more breathy than he intended and ending up just sounding desperate. Which he was, of course.

At least it prompted Potter to finally do something. And that something was…shit…one hell of a something. Draco didn’t consider himself a sensitive person, at least not physically. He’d experienced enough pain to render his skin considerably tough for an 18 year old. But, shit, pleasure.  _That_ , apparently, was completely different if the heat - no, that wasn’t right, he knew what it was to be burned - the _warmth_  that spread through his body was any indication.

It didn’t make sense that Potter could press his lips against Draco’s neck in one small area, but somehow make it feel as if those same lips were  _everywhere,_ leaving behind pure ecstasy in their wake. Which may have sounded rather dramatic. But these were  _Harry Potter’s lips_ on  _Draco Malfoy’s neck._  So dramatic was a given.

And then those lips actually started sucking. And Draco lost control of all his motor functions. At least that was the only explanation for the excruciatingly  _humiliating_ sound that came out of his mouth. And there was no denying Potter heard it because, one - it was LOUD, and the room dissolved into giggles immediately, and two - Potter paused what he was doing, only for a second (thank Merlin), but it was enough. Enough to confirm that Draco had been terribly terribly exposed.

Although, he  _was_  being given a hickey. Was he expected  _not_ to enjoy it? It didn’t matter that it was Potter. Even though Potter’s presence alone was enough to make Draco shiver. Even though Potter was very talented at it - how did he even know how to  _do that_ with his tongue? And oh merlin, yes, this had  _everything_ to do with Potter. Everything. 

But no-one else had to know that.

When Potter brought his teeth into the mix as well - grazing them lightly against Draco’s neck like he knew  _exactly_ what he was doing - Draco had to close his eyes. He couldn’t look at their audience anymore. This was  _mortifying._  And yet, literally the best thing Draco had ever experienced.

How long did it take to leave a hickey anyway? There should have been a mark by now. Except Potter was moving his mouth around quite a bit, not committing to a single area, and clearly dragging out the process. It had to mean he was enjoying it too. It  _had_  to. Or perhaps he just liked to make Draco squirm.

Either way, Draco wasn’t complaining. The longer he got to have Potter’s lips on his neck, the better. He would surely never live this moment down - since the entire eighth year was witnessing it - but even so, each second of pleasure was worth it.

All too soon, Potter was pulling back, leaving a cold spot on Draco’s neck. Draco opened his eyes to Seamus approaching - inspecting his hickey far more closely than necessary. Potter was already walking away, back to his spot on the far side of the circle, which was probably for the best. What were they going to say to each other after  _that?_

“Nicely done, Potter,” Seamus announced loudly to the room, “but I did only ask for  _one_  hickey.”

Draco jerked a hand up to cover his neck as everyone laughed. He didn’t dare make eye contact with Potter.

“Over to you, Potter,” Seamus said, winking at Draco before returning to his seat. He really was a bastard.

Draco kept his eyes on his knees which he had propped up and crossed over in front of him. He was curious as to who or what Potter would dare, but he knew if he caught Potter’s eye, he’d just start blushing, and that was not something he wanted anyone to see. Not something he wanted  _Potter_ to see.

“Harry,” Pansy said in her sickly sweet voice - nothing good ever came from that. “Why don’t you dare Draco? He hasn’t had a turn yet. I’m sure he feels very left out.”

Draco lifted his head to fix Pansy with the dirtiest glare he could manage. She was a loyal friend, but merlin, she could be cruel.

“Right,” Potter said, voice a little breathless, as if he’d just spent most of his energy on giving someone multiple hickeys (!!!), “Malfoy, I dare - “

“Truth!” Draco yelled out quickly, turning to Potter. ‘I choose truth.” Whatever dare Potter was planning - however tame - Draco couldn’t do it. Not right now.

Potter blinked back at Draco for a moment. Everyone else was staring at Draco too. He was the first to choose truth. And he knew why. The risk of revealing something humiliating under veritaserum was too high. Truth was  _awful._  You were completely at the whim of the asker. Anything they wanted to know, anything  _Potter_ wanted to know, Draco would expose as easily as if he’d just been asked about the weather.

But Draco held out hope that Potter was merciful, that he’d go easy on Draco. And he was right. Well, at least, Potter _tried_ to. “Why did you pick truth?”

Draco froze. A much less pleasurable warmth filled his body, bringing colour to his pale skin.

“Boring!” Pansy called out, irritated that her plan hadn’t been successful. She didn’t know that Potter had asked  _exactly_  the right question to expose Draco, and render his choosing truth absolutely pointless.

All eyes were on Draco. He could feel the veritaserum clawing at his throat, encouraging him to say all the things that could ruin him. “I - I didn’t want to have to move,” Draco managed to say, rather reservedly at first, although he knew the veritaserum wouldn’t allow it for long. He fought against the rest of the explanation, holding it back with everything he could, but it was fruitless.

“Because - “ Oh merlin, this was it - “Because I’m hard, okay? And I didn’t want anyone to see.”

Someone gasped obnoxiously - probably that Ernie Macmillan kid - and Pansy clapped her hands together. Draco, still watching Potter, witnessed his mouth fall open in a way that did not help Draco with the particular problem he’d just told his entire year about in the slightest. Draco crossed his legs tighter.

“Is it because -“

“One question, Potter.  _One_ ,” Draco interrupted quickly. People could put two and two together on their own - there was no need to explain why -

“Did Harry get you all hot and bothered?” Pansy teased, such vindictive glee in her voice that Draco wondered what the hell he had ever done to her to deserve such torture.

It didn’t matter that the rules stipulated one question, because the veritaserum was in effect all the same, and Pansy had asked him a question. So Draco had no choice but to say: “Yes.”

“Of  _course_  he did,” Draco continued, trying to play it cool - at least, as much as possible under the circumstances. “He was giving me a bloody hickey for merlin’s sake!” He wanted to add that Potter could have been a goblin and the outcome would still be the same, but the veritaserum wouldn’t let him exaggerate quite that far.

Draco didn’t even know if all the eyes on him were satisfied with his defence - it wasn’t exactly a denial. He couldn’t lie. But he could hardly bear it if people actually thought, well,  _knew_ , that he had the hots for Potter. And they just kept on staring, like Draco would reveal something else, or that they might catch a glimpse of the evidence between his legs - evidence that he was keeping securely hidden.

“I  _am_ rather good at giving hickeys,” Potter announced in a loud voice, drawing some of the attention away from Draco. “And blowjobs too,” he added staring right at Draco. Oh  _fuck._

Potter was making Draco’s erection situation worse - if that was possible. But at least his words had drawn all the attention of the room now. No one seemed interested in witnessing Draco’s erection when they could hear about Harry Potter’s blowjobs. Typical.

And then Potter mouthed a word at Draco that took a second to interpret.  _Run._ Oh. Potter was  _saving_ Draco. Again. Draco wasted no more time reading into it further, and took his opportunity, jumping to his feet and turning around in the same motion to hide his crotch from the room.

And then he ran. Which was a little awkward with the hardness in-between his legs. But he had no choice. He had to go into hiding forever. Or at the very least, until his erection died down. Which could be a while. He could still feel the way Potter’s lips, his  _tongue,_  had felt on his neck. Merlin. If he wanted to get rid of his erection fast, he was going to have to take matters into his own hands, _literally._  It was the most practical thing to do. 

Draco darted into an empty classroom and locked the door. 

 

* * *

 

Only Pansy would arrange gatherings on school nights. She said it was because the teachers would be much less likely to expect students to be partying on Monday nights, so they were less likely to be caught. Which, Draco supposed did have some merit to it. But the main reason was clearly because Pansy didn’t seem to need as much sleep as everyone else, and liked to laud her morning perkiness over the rest of the year as they walked between classes like zombies.

Draco would have much preferred to stay in bed all day. Anything to avoid Potter, and regain some sleep. But he was supposed to be good this year. And he really needed perfect grades if he was going to land a job after school. He didn’t have the same extracurricular activities as Potter to include on his resume. What was he going to say?  _Disgraced Death Eater?_

So, it was with great reluctance that Draco dragged his feet to his first class, charms, a class he was all too aware he shared with Potter. He arrived early as he had skipped breakfast - it would have been too much of a temptation to stare across the Great Hall at Potter - so he had his choice of seats. The back row was the easy option - he might be able to get a sneaky nap in - so he settled himself in for a nice relaxing class of not dreaming about Potter.

That turned out to be impossible of course. Draco should have realised November third was not yet finished. The seat next to him was snatched up, rather boldly, by Harry Potter. Which could really only mean one thing - Potter had questions. Only this time there was no veritaserum to force them out.

Draco ignored Potter as best he could - although Potter was _not_ making it easy. Surely, he didn’t have to sit  _that_ close, and surely he didn’t have to keep fidgeting and shuffling in his seat, and SURELY he didn’t have to try and pass notes to Draco. Were they suddenly back in first year or something?

Draco just kept on pushing the note back across the table without reading it, and Potter would slide it right on back. But Draco couldn’t read it. He didn’t want to deal with this conversation now, the aftermath of the humiliating (but admittedly heavenly) scene last night. Potter would want to know things. And Draco had already revealed too much.

However, just like Draco, Potter was a stubborn bastard, and it didn’t seem like he was going to give up on the note situation anytime soon. So when he leaned into Draco’s ear and whispered, “Just read the fucking note, Malfoy,” Draco gave in.

He picked it up with an irritated sigh (so Potter would know how much of an inconvenience it was for him) and reluctantly read Potter’s scribbled note. He snorted. The note had one word: 

**_So…?_ **

He looked over to Potter so he could fix him with a scowl, but couldn’t quite get his face to participate upon witnessing Potter’s own expression. He had a stupidsmile plastered on his face, far more endearing than it was annoying. And it was very annoying.

Damn it all. Draco picked up his quill and started to scribble his own response back - bringing up his other hand to  cover the parchment when Potter tried to read over his shoulder.

_So what, Potter? If you’re going to start a conversation with me, can you at least give me something to work with? Your note is so pathetic that you’re lucky I’m even responding at all._

Draco knew he was probably being a bit too harsh, but it was the only defence he had to fall back on. He couldn’t give Potter any slight evidence that pointed towards his true feelings - otherwise he might as well confess them at the top of his lungs.

Potter’s note came back to Draco quickly, and Draco had to read the contents through several times while his brain short-circuited.

**You’re _lucky I’m good at blowjobs._**

Draco must have gaped too long, because Potter snatched the note back and added another line.

**_Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to distract everyone last night. Where did you go anyway? Zabini said you weren’t in the dormitory when he returned._ **

Relieved he wasn’t on veritaserum and didn’t have to answer that question, Draco deflected.

_I didn’t know you and Blaise were friends._

Potter didn’t fall for it.

**_Nice try. Where did you go?_ **

_Why do you want to know?_

**_I have a theory. And I’m hoping it’s true._ **

_What’s your theory?_

**_That you took care of your…problem._ **

Draco considered denying it. But how was he was going to back that one up? He was a teenager. Of COURSE he took care of his fucking boner. How was that even worthy of a theory?

_So what if I did?_

**_Did you think about me?_ **

_I’ve always thought you had a big head but this is particularly narcissistic of you, Potter._

**_That’s not a no._ **

Potter just wasn’t letting Draco have his deflection today. When did he get so perceptive? Or had he always been this way, secretly noticing Draco’s behaviour and reading him like an open fucking coffee book? Shit. That was so like Potter.

_What do you want to hear? That your amazing hickey giving skills gave me a big raging boner and I jerked off to the thought of you being as obnoxiously talented with your tongue around my cock as it was on my neck?_

**_Yeah. Basically._ **

_Fuck you, Potter._

**_I had to…you know…sort out a problem too. After._ **

Draco only let himself read the note twice. He didn’t want to pause for too long and look like he was picturing Potter...sorting out his problem. Which he totally was. 

_Did you think about your own stupid tongue on your cock, Mr. “I give rather good blowjobs”?_

**_Um. Of course not. Malfoy, are you jealous?_ **

_Why would I be jealous that you’re obsessed with your own cock?_

**_Are you jealous that I’ve given other people blowjobs?_ **

Yes. But Draco would never admit that.

_No._

**_I am good, you know._ **

_Wow. Did you need help deflating your head, Potter?_

**_If you don’t want one…_ **

Draco had to have been reading the note wrong. There was no way Potter was offering to - 

_Wait. What are you suggesting?_

**_Just say yes, Malfoy._ **

Oh merlin, he  _was_. For once, Draco didn’t  consider the consequences or the implications of his answer. He dropped his quill to the parchment immediately. 

_Yes._

Draco hadn’t even passed the note over yet, when Potter slipped off his chair to his knees.

“You didn’t mean  _now_?” Draco whispered urgently to Potter. He couldn’t seriously be intending to give Draco a blowjob  _in the middle of class._

That endearing smile returned and Potter tapped his head with his wand by way of response - his body disappearing to a transparent glimmer. Potter was going to suck him off. In the middle of class. Under a disillusionment charm. This could not be happening.

Draco looked around the class, only just now taking in how close everyone was. There were students directly in front of them. If Draco leaned forward, he could touch the back of Susan Bone’s head. And Potter was just going to suck him off. Right here and now.

There was Professor Flitwick, perched on his tower of books, looking right at them. Well not right at them, he clearly hadn’t seen Potter’s slipping manoeuvre, but he was  _facing_ them.

It was all so risky.

And yet, as Potter would surely discover soon enough, Draco was already hard.

Draco almost jumped when he felt Potter’s hands on his knees, gentle and timid, slowly gliding up a little further along his thighs, as if testing Draco’s level of comfort.

Well, Draco had tried playing it cool and he’d already failed quite drastically. Agreeing to a blowjob from Potter was certainly not a great way to pretend disinterest. So he didn’t think he could make things any worse.

Which is why he allowed himself to take a hold of Potter’s hands where they rested on his thighs, and pull them straight up to his own crotch. If he was going to get sucked off in class, then he wanted to get sucked off in class ASAP. Yes, he was eager. He was so fucking pathetically eager. So eager that he didn’t have the energy to be self-conscious when a chuckle travelled up from beneath his desk at the action.

Potter was laughing at him. And Draco didn’t even care. Because he was about to have Potter’s tongue on his cock. And even now, he had Potter’s hands working the buttons of his pants, and good grief, he didn’t know how much longer he could wait to - 

“Mr Malfoy, where’s Mr Potter?” Draco, looked up at Professor Flitwick’s voice, his face immediately flushing.

Potter was currently under the desk peeling back Draco’s underwear.

“He left one of his - “ Draco felt the coldness of the room as his dick was exposed - “uh-uh-uh books in his dorm, Professor. He’ll be back - “ and there it was, no hesitation, Potter’s tongue - “s-s-s-s-soon.”

Professor Flitwick seemed satisfied with that response (thank Merlin!), leaving Draco to finally appreciate the magic that was happening to his cock. Potter hadn’t even put it in his mouth yet, the fucking tease, he just kept running his tongue up Draco’s length with a torturous flourish when he got to the head.

Draco could hardly believe any of it was happening. Ignoring the fact that  _they were in the middle of class_ , this was Harry Potter. Harry Potter’s tongue on Draco Malfoy’s dick. After years of fighting and, at least on Draco’s part, pining, they had come to this. And Potter had initiated it. A good deal of Draco’s arousal stemmed from just the thought that Harry Potter  _wanted_  to suck his dick (and the rest was undoubtedly from Harry Potter’s tongue itself).

But then, Draco got to experience Potter’s entire  _mouth_ , tongue _included._  And he realised Potter’s head wasn’t so big after all - or at least if it was - it was completely justified. Potter wasn’t just  _good_ at blowjobs, he was fucking mind-blowing.

And Draco was supposed to just sit there  _in class_ , and not make a sound? Not make a sound when under the desk, Potter was taking him to  _heaven_? It took all of Draco’s strength not to whimper when Potter’s mouth closed around his entire length for the first time. How was that even  _possible?_ Potter had to be cheating. Draco didn’t know how, but it was the only logical reason for why Potter’s mouth could reach all the way to the base of Draco’s cock, over and over again.

He may have been able to hold back his whimpers - just barely - but Draco couldn’t do anything about his breathing. It had to have been giving him away. What other explanation could there be for why he was  _panting_ at his desk? And sweating. He was sweating too.

Everything was too obvious. Why didn’t people know? Why weren’t they looking? Draco wanted to scream at the top of his lungs:  _Harry Potter is sucking my cock! How can you not notice this?_ But luckily he wasn’t so drunk on the pleasure that he’d lost his common sense. Just his ability to concentrate on anything but the sensation of Potter’s mouth.

Potter was devouring and releasing Draco’s cock with a steady rhythm now. It felt like he was goading Draco to come, daring him to give in to it. Draco could already feel the beginning of his orgasm spreading its way through him, his entire body tightening in anticipation. And then Draco was gone. Floating far away from the tiny little classroom in a world of absolute bliss. It didn’t make sense that something that seemed so dirty could result in a feeling so pure. 

Draco came back down slowly, taking in his surroundings and realising,  _shit_. He’d just gotten off during a freaking Charms lesson. But the next realisation made up for it -  _Potter_ had gotten him off.

He was suddenly aware of his pants being done back up by invisible fingers beneath him.  _Wait._ He’d been so focused on his high, he didn’t even know if Potter had, you know, swallowed his come or not. Which wasn’t really important of course. But now that Draco thought about it, he really wanted to know. He _really_ wanted to know.

Potter popped back up into his seat not much longer afterwards, his disillusionment charm removed. Was it Draco’s imagination or did his hair look even  _more_ disheveled than usual? And his lips were bright red, so  _obviously_ bright red. Oh merlin, everyone was going to know when they saw Potter’s face. Everyone was going to know that he’d just sucked cock. Fucking Merlin fuck.

Potter wasn’t looking at Draco - he was facing the front of the classroom, pretending to pay attention - although he clearly wasn’t because there was a scandalously cheeky smile on his face. Good grief, Potter.

Draco’s mouth was dry. “Did you swallow it?” As soon as he’d asked it, he wished he hadn’t. It sounded childish. It was a stupid question. Potter must have thought so too because he didn’t answer.

But a second later, he licked his lips.

Fuck the rest of the year. Why couldn’t it be November third every day?


	9. Part Nine

Shit. Shit.  _Shit._ Shit. Draco was an idiot. He’d completely forgotten it was November third. He’d been thinking about the day all week. And all the day prior as well. But this morning, he’d gotten up and headed straight to his favourite coffee shop without thinking. He’d sat down at his usual spot by the door with his usual caramel macchiato (with extra foam), forgetting there was nothing usual about the day at all.

Because, barely a metre from where Draco sat, Harry Potter had just walked in the door.

He hadn’t seen Draco just yet, thank Merlin. Draco was a mess. He hadn’t even showered this morning! He always showered before leaving the house.  _Always._ But today, on the  _one_ day when it fucking mattered, he’d left the house in a daze, just for a quick, lazy coffee. He’d run a comb through his hair at least, but still! He wasn’t even wearing a collared shirt for fuck’s sake. He looked positively pedestrian.  

Potter walked past Draco without so much as a glance, heading straight for the counter near the back of the cafe. It gave Draco time to think. Potter would surely see him when he left if he was getting takeaway - or worse, if he were to dine in, he might end up at a table close to Draco, and then Draco would be forced to acknowledge him out of sheer politeness.

Draco ran a hand through his hair nervously. It had grown out a bit since school, and wasn’t slicked back like it usually was. Perhaps Potter wouldn’t recognise him. Perhaps if he just slouched and kept his head down, Potter wouldn’t notice him at all.

He took a large sip of his coffee and used the opportunity peek out over his cup to see where Potter had gotten to. He must have finished ordering, because he was hanging around the counter now, one hand tapping on the back wall of the cafe. Takeaway it was. Draco dropped his cup and turned away before Potter looked up.

Draco caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of the window beside him. How could he have ever left the house like this? Even his eyes looked tired. It would be  _insulting_ if Potter recognised him today - Draco didn’t look like himself at all.

Draco played with his hair in the reflection, pulling it back so it was slick against his head and wishing he had gel or a hair tie on him to keep it in place. Even that would make all the difference and make him somewhat presentable. Then there was the open necked shirt. Clearly, that was a mistake. And there was no quick fix for it.

He caught movement in the glass and quickly dropped his hair, turning his face down to his table, but straining his eyes up to watch - it was Potter, coffee in hand, heading towards the entrance, eyes fixed ahead, not even acknowledging Draco in the slightest.

So this was their November third interaction this year; passing each other by in a coffee shop. What would happen next year? Would they just happen to be in the Ministry on the same day, on different floors, and never once see each other? And the year after that, would they simply be in the same country as each other and that was that? Would November third cease to be anything at all? Would Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy cease to be anything to each other at all?

Fuck.

“Potter!” Draco called out with Potter already halfway out the door. He was going to regret this.

Potter ducked his head back around the door immediately, smiling as soon as he saw Draco. “Malfoy! I can’t believe I didn’t see you there.”

“Well, you always were unobservant,” Draco said in what he hoped would be perceived as a chilly manner. He’d been the one who had to initiate conversation after all, since Potter had been all too happy to ignore him. It was only right that Potter put in the effort now.

“I guess I’m lucky you have a sharp eye then,” Potter said, painfully smooth. He took a step closer to Draco’s table, holding onto the back of the opposite chair.

Draco understood the implication clearly. There was no need for Potter to be quite so obvious. “By all means, Potter, sit if you must,” he said, making sure Potter knew it was less of an invite and more a resigned agreement.

Potter sat down without hesitation, not even attempting to play it cool. It was actually a little intimidating how little Potter seemed to have to control his actions. Draco could only aspire to reach that level of comfort in himself.

“Your hair’s long,” Potter pointed out with all the conversational skills of a seven year old. Draco was about to tell Potter exactly that when he added, “Just so you can’t call me unobservant again,” with a playful wink.

_Shit._  Potter had grown up. He was somehow _more_ confident than he was in eighth year, back when he’d given Draco a - well, last November third. And Draco was only just now noticing the shadow of stubble around Potter’s chin - so light that it was as if he’d shaved the night before to allow time for the shadow to form before morning. Which seemed much too carefully planned and deliberate for someone like Potter.

Draco drew his eyes up from Potter’s jaw - had that widened as well? No, Draco was reading into things now. He hadn’t seen Potter in months. Not since the end of school. A lot had changed, but plenty hadn’t. The hair - that made Draco feel slightly better about his own - so untamed and unpredictable, never committing to a single part line, the smile, cheeky and knowing and above all, warm, and those eyes, just as piercing and still framed by those boyish round glasses.

“Malfoy?”

Draco snapped out of his stare. Oh fuck, he hoped Potter hadn’t noticed. “What?”

“You’re buzzing.”

It took a second for Draco to understand what Potter meant. A snarky “with what?” fell back down his throat when he recognised the sound. He shoved a hand down into his pocket and threw the  awful muggle device on the table. It had been buzzing on and off, ever since he’d received it, with no discernible pattern and it was driving Draco up every single wall in his house.

Potter looked from the device to Draco with a questioning look. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”

“ _Answer_  it? I haven’t been sent anything.”

Potter laughed, a short sound, like he was trying to hold back for Draco’s sake. “Malfoy, do you know what this is?”

Draco didn’t appreciate the implication. “Of course I know what it is.” He paused, taking a sip of his coffee to give himself time to remember the name they had told him in his course and -  _yes, that was it_. “It’s a  _phone_.”

“Okay,” Potter said slowly. “Do you know what it does? How it works?”

Draco took another sip of his coffee, hoping his stalling tactic wasn’t too obvious. He made sure he had the correct information before repeating the definition from memory. “It’s a popular muggle tool for communication via direct voice interaction and modern messaging features.”

The phone stopped buzzing.

Potter picked it up. “You have 18 missed calls from Pansy.”

Is that what the noise had been? “I don’t know why she doesn’t just floo call me,” Draco said. “It’s so much easier.”

“It’s really not,” Potter said with another laugh. Draco tried not to let how it affected him show in his face. Potter was playing with the buttons on the phone now, his eyes on the screen.

“Wait, what are you - “

Potter tossed the phone back to Draco and stood up with his coffee. “Call me when you work it out,” he said.  _And left._

“When I work what out?” Draco called after him, but he was already walking past Draco’s window, sipping his coffee with that traitorously cheeky smile that Draco hated with every fibre of his being. Because he loved it with every fibre of his being.

Why the fuck hadn’t Draco put on a collared shirt this morning?


	10. Part Ten

Draco knew he was very junior still, but he felt a strong sense of pride and importance in his position. After just a year and a half of training, he was already in placement as a Healer at St Mungo’s. Yes, he had Healer Gibbons supervising him constantly but she usually didn’t interfere and allowed Draco to work with minimal guidance.

It’s not like he was doing any actual healing yet, just assessing patients with non-urgent conditions and passing them onto the appropriate specialist, but it was a start. And much more than Draco thought an ex Death Eater would ever be entitled to.

The days in the Hospital usually went quickly as there was always a constant stream of patients to be assessed. Draco was hoping this particular day would be the same, as it was November third, and as soon as he got home, he was going to call Harry Potter.

He supposed it was rather bold, but it was just as bold of Potter to give Draco his phone number the year before. A tidbit Draco had worked out months after the fact, thanks to Pansy being nosey (as per usual) and discovering the number in his contacts.

Since the discovery, Draco had been painfully waiting for November third to swing around again so he could actually use Potter’s number. If he called him on any other day, there was no telling what would happen, but if he called Potter on November third, then it would at least be _something_. Something worth embarrassing himself over.

And now it was the day, and despite his nerves, Draco already wanted his shift to end so he could make the call.

Draco’s first patient of the day was a charming older witch who couldn’t stop casting summoning spells with every word she said - spell malfunction ward. Draco’s second patient was a young father who claimed his whole family couldn’t stop reenacting their ancestors - historic curses ward.

Draco’s fifteenth patient of the day was Harry Potter. And there was no ward in the hospital appropriate for Potter’s... _requirements._

A small part of Draco was relieved that he didn’t have to call Potter after all but a much larger part was already panicking at the prospect of assessing Potter. How could he remain professional with a patient who had once sucked his - well, he would just have to call on his professionalism training and do his best.

“Good Afternoon, Mr. Potter,” Draco said formally, aware of Healer Gibbon’s eyes on him. “Please take a seat.”

Potter’s smile covered a laugh as he followed instruction and sat down - he didn’t look sick at all. “Good Afternoon, Healer Malfoy,” he said in a serious voice that only Draco could tell was mocking.

Potter handed over the form they made all non-serious patients fill out at reception and Draco skimmed over it quickly. “You haven’t ticked any symptoms,” he observed.

“None of them applied,” Potter said with a shrug.

Draco made eyes with Healer Gibbons, hoping she might take over, but she just gestured for Draco to continue. “So, what symptoms do you have?” Draco asked.

“None.” Potter raised his eyebrows - he was trying to get a rise out of Draco, Draco knew it.

“If you have no symptoms, then why are you here?” Draco said slowly, keeping his voice in check for Healer Gibbon’s benefit. If he lost his composure in front of her and it affected his career, Draco wouldn’t be able to stop himself from giving Harry Potter  _plenty_ of symptoms worth visiting St Mungo’s for.

Potter’s eyes darted over to Healer Gibbons and back to Draco. Then he stood up and walked to Gibbons, beginning a conversation with her in a hushed voice, as if Draco wasn’t even in the room!

What the fuck, Potter? Healer Gibbons was there as a  _supervisor_.  _Draco_  was the acting Healer. He wasn’t there to be ignored. Just as he was about to say something, Potter pulled back from Gibbons and winked at Draco. Oh Merlin. What the fuck had he said?

When Draco moved his eyes over to Healer Gibbons to assess the damage, he found she was blushing. Oh shit. “Given Mr Potter’s condition is sensitive, I will wait outside. Healer Malfoy, I am sure you can handle this on your own.”

Draco watched her leave and waited until the door was firmly shut behind her before dropping his professionalism. He turned to Potter. “What the fuck did you tell her?”

“Language, Healer Malfoy!” Potter chided, the cheeky bastard. "I am your patient.”

Draco snorted. “I assess patients with symptoms. If you’re not sick, then I can’t do anything for you.”

Instead of leaving Draco’s office, Potter dropped back into the patient’s chair, leaning back with an infuriating pout. “What about if I’m  _sick_  of waiting for someone to call me? Does that count?”

Draco blinked. Potter had been  _waiting?_ For a year? He spoke without thinking. “I was going to call you tonight.”  _Shit._

“I know.”  _Wait, what?_

“You know?” Draco repeated. Potter  _knew_? “Then why - “

“I didn’t want you to.”

Draco couldn’t keep up. Maybe Potter  _did_ need to be in St Mungo’s. “None of this makes any sense, Potter. You  _want_  me to call you. You  _don’t_ want me to call you. What’s your problem?”

Potter sat up straight in his chair, staring up at Draco where he stood, but somehow making Draco feel as if he were the shorter one of the two. “My  _problem_  is you always make me wait too long.”

Draco gulped. Potter was training to become an Auror and it showed. Draco felt as if he were being interrogated, and yet  _he_  had been the one asking the questions! “I didn’t realise you were waiting.”

“I’m  _always_ waiting.” Potter dropped his gaze, and his Auror likeness along with it. “You never returned the favour, you know?”

Potter was being especially cryptic today. “Returned  _what_ favour?” Draco asked, glad Healer Gibbons wasn’t around to hear him speaking to a “patient” with such undisguised frustration.

Potter still couldn’t meet his eye. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. It was only two years ago. Eighth year. Charm Class. I - “

“Yes, yes!” Draco yelled, quickly cutting off Potter, his face reddening instantly. “There’s no need to broadcast it to the whole Hospital.”

Potter looked up - his face was red too, although it wasn’t quite as obvious on his dark skin as it was on Draco’s paleness. “It’s just you and me in here,” he said quietly, with the hint of something more to his words.

Draco caught on (or leapt on) immediately. “You aren’t seriously suggesting…”

Potter smiled, sweet and innocent, and absolutely maddening. “I haven’t suggested anything.”

Draco took a step closer so he could actually look down at Potter, Auror training or not, and regain at least some control over the situation. “Don’t play coy with me, Potter. Here you are, at my place of work,  _begging_  me to give you a blowjob.”

Unfortunately, Potter didn’t seem phased. “I’m not begging,” he said simply, leaning back into his chair and spreading his legs the tiniest fraction.

Draco’s eyes darted down - at the movement  _only_  - but it didn’t matter. Potter had seen him looking. He had essentially trapped Draco. And any hope of Draco denying his interest was gone.

Huffing, to convey his anger at Potter for tricking him, Draco crossed this arms. “I can’t just give you a blowjob in the middle of a work day!”

‘Why not?” Potter said, smirking.  _Smirking._ Did Draco need to remind him that it was Potter who seemed so desperate for a bloody blowjob in the first place? Draco was just here trying to do his job, of the  _non_ -blowing variety.

“Because -“ Draco started, reaching for an excuse. “Because - because that’s unethical,” he landed on. “You’re a patient!”

“I’m not sick so I’m not technically a patient - “

“You signed the forms - “

“- stating I was perfectly healthy with no symptoms,” Potter finished smugly as if he had planned the -  _Had Potter planned this whole thing?_ “Not a patient. So if that’s the only thing stopping you -“

“Fine,” Draco interrupted loudly, hoping the soundproof charms on all the rooms at St Mungo’s really did hold up. “Since you’re so desperate for it, I’ll suck your stupid dick,” he said, hoping to convey the right level of indifference.

Although perhaps he’d gone a little far because Potter’s face twisted into uncertainty for the first time. “Malfoy, if you don’t want to, that’s fi - “

“I want to!” Draco interrupted, with more eagerness than he intended to show. It would be such a waste, after all this work of feigning disinterest, if he  _didn’t_ get to suck Potter’s dick. “I mean,” Draco clarified, trying to downgrade his obvious interest. “I don’t  _not_  want to.”

“Malfoy,” Potter said seriously. “Do you want to or do you not want to? I’m not going to let you give me a blowjob unless you’re completely into it. I didn’t mean to be so forward, I thought that you would want -“

“I do.” He wanted to even  _more so,_ now that Potter was being so considerate about it. Fuck. He was so attracted to Potter’s  _goodness_ , it was embarrassing.

“Are you sure that -“

“Are you trying to make  _me_  beg for it now, Potter? Would that make you feel better about your own desperation?”

Potter’s smile returned - finally. “In my defence, two years is a long time to wait.”

“Then stop stalling and let me get on with it.”

Potter laughed. “What brilliant begging, Malfoy. Really gets me in the mood, ‘ _getting on with it’_ does,” he teased.

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco said, placing himself gently on the ground in front of Potter’s chair, thinking the action would do just that - shut him up. It didn’t.

“Is that what gets you in the mood?” Potter continue to joke, but his voice had taken on an excited edge. “Would you prefer me to be quiet?”

Draco placed his hands on Potter’s knees, and Potter’s legs immediately fell further apart without prompting. Draco let his eyes casually flick over Potter’s crotch - was he hard? His trousers were quite loose fitting but it certainly looked as if he  _could_  already be hard - as he looked up to meet Potter’s eye. “Right now I would,” he said in answer to Potter’s question.

Potter mimed locking up his lips and throwing away the key - very unoriginal but Draco found it charming all the same. Potter could do anything really and Draco would be charmed. That was the problem. For no one else would he get on his knees after such a shameless request for a blowjob.

The floor was hard and not terribly comfortable, but at least it was clean. The Hospital had constant cleaning charms in all the wards and rooms to protect against contagious conditions or curses. The witches and wizards who originally arranged the spells probably hadn’t given much consideration to the act of giving blowjobs, but Draco thanked them silently all the same. He’d hate to have to explain to Healer Gibbons why his white pants were dusty at the knees.

“Malfoy,” Potter said, clearly not having thrown away the key to his lips at all. “Are you making me wait on purpose?”

Draco realised his terrible mistake. Here, Potter was in front of him, legs spread, and he’d been thinking about the floor and his white pants! What was wrong with him? Although, he did delight in Potter’s impatience. It would have been nice to hear him  _really_ beg, and since he couldn’t seem to keep quiet  _anyway_ …

“Perhaps I’d be more inclined to move a little faster if I knew you were completely into it too.”

“Fuck off, Malfoy. You know I am.”

“I don’t  _know_  any - “

Draco’s words dried up in his mouth as Potter stood up, incidentally thrusting his (unfortunately clothed) crotch in Draco’s face. And that wasn’t all. Potter was - Potter was _loosening his belt_. And  _unbuttoning his trousers_. And -  _holy shit_  - Potter was  _yanking his trousers down_ , right along with his pants, right here, right now, in front of Draco’s  _face._

And before Draco even had time to blink - and he certainly wasn’t about to do so now and miss the sight in front of him - Potter’s cock, his naked, hard - Draco’s earlier suspicions were correct - cock was ready and waiting. And Draco didn’t think it was fair that Potter, as eager as he  _clearly_ was, should have to wait any longer, so he put the whole fucking (impressive) thing right into his mouth, totally forgetting his pretence of indifference.

Now, Draco had sucked cock before. He hadn’t just been sitting around pining after Potter for two (nine) years or something ridiculous like that. But he’d always wondered about Potter’s cock. Potter’s cock sucking skills had popped into his head the first time he’d  _received_ another blowjob - he was always comparing of course. But with  _giving_  one, he had no comparison, and he wanted one, desperately. If Potter hadn’t acquiesced and brought them to this point, Draco knew he  _would_ have been reduced to begging eventually. Begging to suck Potter’s cock.

And with Potter’s cock in his mouth now, he decided it would not have been unreasonable. Potter was doing  _things_. Draco had always though giving a blowjob was about giving pleasure and receiving just about receiving pleasure, but he was starting to see how wrong he was. One of Potter’s hands was curled so tight in Draco’s hair that it made his scalp tingle. The other, quite the opposite, was tracing gentle delicate patterns below his ear, sending lightning fast shivers across his whole body, reminiscent of the dared hickey(s) Potter had left on Draco’s neck two years ago.

And then there was Potter’s cock. It was  _moving_. As in, Potter was deliberately  _twitching_  the head beneath Draco’s tongue. And maybe that shouldn’t have made Draco go wild, but it did. It did. It did. Because if Potter had that much control over his cock, what else could he do with?  _What else could he do with it?_

Draco was mortified - absolutely and irrevocably mortified - when his mouth, with no prior warning, moaned around Potter’s cock. Like  _moaned_ moaned (moaned™). And it was not something he could easily cover up. It was an all-out, no holds barred, moan.

Potter heard. The bastard actually laughed. Draco was on his knees, giving him a (life-changing) blowjob, and Potter had the audacity to  _laugh at him._ Well, Draco did not appreciate that at all, and soon Potter would realise just how colossal of a mistake he had made laughing at Draco Malfoy. Because Draco was going to pull away and leave the evil bastard with blue balls.  _That_ would teach him.

Except when Draco went to pull back the first time, he decided that perhaps he’d give it one final suck up and down, for his own benefit, _not_ Potter’s of course. After that, he figured there was no harm in staying around for just a little longer. Besides, the more he sucked Potter’s cock, the _closer_ he could get him to the edge before stopping. And that would surely be the best form of revenge.

Except the closer he got Potter to the edge, the more  _enthusiastic_ Potter became. And Draco’s will to leave Potter hanging, grew smaller and smaller, with every laboured breath that came out of Potter’s mouth, with every clench of Potter’s fist in Draco’s hair, and with every twitch of Potter’s fucking cock.

And Potter wasn’t laughing anymore. No, Potter was the one moaning at the command of Draco’s tongue, and really, that would have to do as revenge. It certainly drove the laughter far from Draco’s mind at least. And when Draco allowed himself to moan again, Potter certainly wasn’t laughing then either. No, both of his hands were clutching onto Draco’s hair now, and he was whispering words so quietly between his own moans, that Draco couldn’t understand them.

It wasn’t until Potter finally let go - coming into Draco’s mouth - when one of the words became clear.  _Malfoy._ Herepeated it again and again as he came.  _Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy._ And  _that_ was almost enough to make Draco come as well. Almost. Two years ago, definitely. Now, he just needed Harry to -

Potter started pulling his pants up, barely a second after his cock popped from Draco’s mouth. His come was still trickling down Draco’s throat and he was _already_ pulling up his pants! What kind of atrocious etiquette was that? Draco wasn’t expecting to be spooned or anything - but now that Potter had gotten off, his next priority should be giving Draco a hand - either literally or figuratively - not adjusting his belt buckle!

Draco stood up, his dick achingly hard within his trousers, hoping Potter might be reminded of his presence and proceed with the expected sexual favours in return. But Potter seemed to have very different expectations. Because as soon as his clothes had been fully righted - he started walking to the door.  _Walking to the door!_

“Potter!” Draco yelled at him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Potter turned around, one hand on the door. “See you again in a year, I suppose,” he said with the exact indifference Draco had been attempting all throughout their encounter.  “Unless you’re free tomorrow?”

Draco couldn’t believe it. Potter was leaving him with blue balls. After he’d just - after they’d just - How  _dare_ he. Tomorrow was no consolation. Nothing good ever happened with Potter outside November third. And it seemed like Potter was catching onto that as well - so the empty gesture was pointless. And insulting.

“Fuck off, Potter.”

Despite his words, Draco was still disappointed when Potter did exactly that.


	11. Part Eleven

Draco held off for as long as possible. He toyed with the idea of passing November third altogether without talking to Potter but he knew he couldn’t go through with it. And now he’d left it too late to do anything remotely clever - like ‘accidentally’ running into Potter in the Ministry. No, there was nothing else for it. He was going to have to call.

Potter picked up right away. “Malfoy.”  _Shit._

Draco froze for a second and considered denying it…before realising how pointless that would be. “How did you know it was me?”

“What do you want?” Potter asked. He sounded tired.

“I never gave you my number.”

Potter ignored that. “What do you want?” He asked again.

Draco hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. He’d imagined that because it was November third, Potter would just be amenable to… Well, he didn’t think he’d have to work for what he was after, is all. “I just called...to check up on you. It’s been a year since your visit to St Mungo’s and protocol requires me to…to make sure you’re…healthy?” Yeah,  _that_  sounded believable.  

“Protocol,” Potter repeated drily. "And you call all your patients at 11.30pm, do you?”

 _Shit_. Why had he left it so late? Abort abort abort. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll -“

“I didn’t say it bothered me,” interrupted Potter. “I asked whether you call all your patients at 11.30pm or just me?”

Draco didn’t appreciate being interrogated like Potter did criminals now that he was a qualified Auror. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Potter. I’m just trying to be professional.”

“Of course. You were very  _professional_  when you attended to me.”

Draco felt his face grow hot - he was immensely glad Potter couldn’t see him at all. “That’s not -  _you_  initiated that."

“You enjoyed it,” Potter retorted, and Draco could just  _hear_  the smirk in his voice.

“So did you,” Draco returned.

There was a pause. When Potter spoke again, his voice had changed.

“Yeah, I did.”

 _Fuck._  What right did Potter have to be so confident when Draco was scrambling not to make a fool out of himself? This was supposed to be easy. Draco needed to make a dignified exit. “Right, well you seem to be doing just fine. I’ll note that in your report and -“

“What are you wearing?”

Draco almost dropped the phone.“Excuse me?” Potter couldn’t just  _ask_  that.

“Your healers' robe?”

“No!” Draco answered automatically. Potter had a way of demanding answers. “Why are you -“

“Pyjamas, then? Silk ones I bet.”

“No.” Was that a dig? There was nothing wrong with silk pyjamas. A fact Potter should already know having had his own pair at Hogwarts, not that Draco ever received any thanks for that. “Don’t presume to - ‘

“What  _are_  you wearing then?” Potter probed. “Nothing? Please tell me you called me wearing nothing.”

“Potter!” Draco yelled into his phone. Yes, he’d hoped there would be some flirting (amongst other things) - that was the whole purpose of calling today after all - but Potter was just so cocky and in control of the situation. And yes that was hot as hell - but Draco wasn’t supposed to be the one to lose his composure first, and things were clearly heading in that direction.  “I’m wearing underwear for Merlin’s sake.”

“ _Just_  underwear?”

Potter was right of course. Draco had only been wearing his briefs when he called but Potter wasn’t supposed to  _know_ that. He wasn’t supposed to  _ask_  that. “What are you trying to do?”

"You’re the one who rang me in his underwear.”  _Shit_ \- had Draco’s deflection been that obvious? “You weren’t thinking of  _initiating_ something, were you?”

“No,” Draco quickly denied. “I most certainly was not!”

“Then, why’d you call?” Potter asked, sweetly.  _Sweetly._

“I already told you I -“

“And I don’t believe you,” Potter said, cutting Draco off. “I think maybe you had something else in mind.” Although the way Potter said it, it was clear he knew exactly what Draco had in mind, no  _maybe_ about it.

Still, Draco didn’t give up his game so easily. “Just what would I have in mind exactly?”

Potter didn’t even hesitate. “Remember when you sucked -“

“Potter! Please!!” Draco interrupted reflexively. Potter was just so damn straightforward.

“Please what? Would you prefer if we talked about when  _I_  sucked -“

“Potter!” Draco yelled into his phone again, trying to hide his excitement at where the conversation had turned. “This is  _so_  inappropriate.”

“Right. Sorry.” Potter cleared his throat. “Did you have any questions?”

Draco was taken aback by Potter’s change in tone. “What?”

“About my recovery. Since you’re checking up on me and all.”

“Oh, yeah.” Draco hoped his disappointment wasn’t too obvious. “Do you have any of the same symptoms?”

“As in, do I still have no symptoms?”  _Fuck._  “Then, yes.”

“And…um - “ Draco hesitated. Was he really going to do this? - “What are you wearing?” Yes, apparently he was.

“Nothing,” Potter said as casually as if he  _wasn’t_ revealing he was starkers.

Draco may or may not have dropped his phone at that point. He hoped Potter didn’t read into the loud clatter against his wooden floorboards. “Nothing?” He repeated as he retrieved the phone. “You answered my phone call  _naked?_ ”

“It’s 11.30pm,” Potter said shamelessly, as if that was all the excuse he needed. "I’m in bed.”

“You sleep naked now?” Draco tried to keep his voice as casual as Potter’s, but it wasn’t quite so level.

“Is that a problem?” Potter asked seriously.

“Er - no.”

“Do you think it will affect my health?”

What kind of question was that? What was Potter playing at? “No?”

“Then I don’t see why you’re asking about it,” Potter said, his faux sweetness returning.  _Oh_.

Despite his protests, Draco rather did enjoy Potter’s cockiness and even his vulgarities  _within_  reason. But he couldn’t  _tell_ Potter that. ”I just - I just -“ Draco stumbled over his words trying to find the best way to ask for it, without actually  _asking_  for it - “Can you, er, go back to, er…”

“The way I was talking before?” Potter finished ( _thank Merlin_ ).

“Yeah.”

“I was  _told,_ ” Potter said in that teasing voice that Draco loved as much as he hated it, “that I was being inappropriate.”

“You  _were_ ,” Draco said in a way he hoped conveyed his disapproval. “But I guess I don’t mind. It’s okay if you want to continue.”

Potter laughed, a loud charming sound that brought Draco back to many places at once, many different November thirds. “It’s  _okay,_  is it?” Potter asked, his words clearly articulated with a wide smile leftover from his laughter. "I don’t know how I feel about  _okay_. I don’t want to be inappropriate unless I know you’re enjoying it.”

One of these days, when his horniness wasn’t clouding his mind, Draco was going to murder Harry Potter. But for now, he could only surrender to Potter’s infuriating desire to embarrass him. “I am."

“You are what?”

Potter was so fucking lucky Draco was horny. “I am enjoying it,” he reluctantly admitted.

That still wasn’t enough for Potter apparently. “ _How_  are you enjoying it?”

 _With his hand on his dick beneath his briefs._  But those words didn’t just come naturally out of his mouth like they obviously did Potter’s. “Come on, do I have to talk like this?”

“So you want me to embarrass myself all on my own?”

“That was the idea, yes.”

Potter laughed again. “It doesn’t work that way, Malfoy.”

Somehow Draco figured Potter was going to say something like that. “Fine, but I - I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m sure you can think of something. It’s why you called me after all, isn’t it?”

Did Draco bother denying it? “Maybe.”

“Alright, keep playing coy then, Malfoy. Don’t worry, I know what you like. I know what you want to talk about. My cock, right? You want to hear how hard I am.”

“I bet you are,” Draco said without thinking. Potter was one horny fucking bastard. Not that Draco was complaining.

“What was that?” Perhaps it was just Draco’s imagination, but Potter didn’t sound so smug anymore.

“I said I  _bet_  you’re fucking hard. Lying around in your bed, naked, knowing I’d call,  _waiting_ for me to call. That’s fucking  _desperate_ , Potter.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Potter didn’t even have the decency to deny it. “I’m not into playing coy like you, Malfoy. I’m not embarrassed that I want you.”

 _I want you._ The words hit Draco right in his fucking gut and, well…cock, his fucking cock.  _“I’m not embarrassed.”_

“I didn’t say you were,” Potter said but his voice conveyed the opposite.

“Fine.” Draco huffed - how was it that Potter was always able to make him say the very things he didn’t want to say - despite how true they might be? “I want you too.”

“Then, what are we doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Malfoy, if you’re going to make me wait a year again, you could at least help me get off now.”

Draco snorted. As if Potter should be the one to get off after the state he had left Draco in last year! “How romantic.”

“If you want romance, you can talk to me any other day of the year,” Potter said with the hint of the attitude he’d had when he’d answered the phone.

Well, Draco could give attitude just as good. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Potter sighed. “It means I’ll take what I can get, and right now, I’d like to get off. And so would you. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell me what you’re doing with your other hand right now.”

 _Fuck._ “Nothing,” Draco answered quickly, yanking his hand out of his underwear. Far too quickly to be believed.  _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

“I thought so.”

_Fuck._

“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge,” Draco retorted, thinking on his feet. “I can just imagine you on speakerphone so you can use both your hands to touch yourself, you greedy bastard.”

Potter made a noise - something between a snort and a whimper - before composing himself. “What a great idea, Malfoy. Thanks for the suggestion.”

Fucking  _Merlin._ “You’re not - are you actually - what are you doing?” He couldn’t tell if Potter was having him on or not.

“Now,” Potter said, his voice half serious, half teasing, “in your imagination, how were you picturing my hands? Was it one on my cock, and perhaps the other playing with a nipple, or did you like the idea of  _both_ hands on - “

“Either -“ Draco coughed away the unintended squeak in his voice - “any - is fine.”

Potter’s soft laughter through the phone line did nothing to help Draco’s painfully hard cock. “I can’t quite work you out, Malfoy.”

That was something then - at least he hadn’t been too obvious. Not like Potter, the raging hormonal man. ’Don’t worry, I’ve got you pegged.”

Potter’s laughter wasn’t soft this time. “I’m sure you think you do.”

“ _Excuse_  me?”

Potter ignored that. “Tell me, Malfoy, are you into this? The phone sex I mean?”

 _The. Phone. Sex._ Did no one teach Potter proper etiquette? “Potter, you can’t just  _announce_  - “

“Are. You. Into. It?”

Draco couldn’t see a way out of the question so he kept his answer non-committal - he couldn’t have Potter thinking the  _phone sex_ was the very reason Draco called or anything. That would be ridiculous. “I  _guess._ ”

“You really are something. Alright, I’m going to make this easy for you. I’m going to talk to you and tell you what I’m doing, and I’m sure you will hang up because I’ll be very,  _very_  vulgar. Far too vulgar for your sophisticated tastes. But if you happen to accidentally leave the phone line open and hear every second, then that’s none of my business.”

Draco couldn’t think of a single objection to Potter’s incredibly brilliant plan.

“I thought you’d like that,” Potter said, his voice a little raspier than before. Oh my gosh, was this Potter’s  _phone sex voice_? There was a shuffling sound on the phone line and then: “I have to thank you for that speakerphone suggestion, Malfoy. It’s so much better when I can use both my hands, although I’d much prefer they were yours of course.”

Did Draco mention how brilliant this plan was? Careful to make as little noise as possible, Draco set his own phone on speaker as well, settling into his bed, ready to mimic Potter’s actions. Maybe this year, they’d actually both get off.

“I’m sure you’ve already hung up, Malfoy, but just in case you haven’t, perhaps you’d be interested to know that I’m taking things very slowly. I haven’t touched my cock yet - not like you, you naughty - “

“I’m not touching my cock!” Draco yelled out defensively, forgetting he was supposed to be pretending he wasn’t listening. Oh, fuck it all anyway. The bastard knew. He  _knew._

“What  _are_  you doing?”

“Lying here,  _bored_ , -“ perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration or  an outright lie - “waiting for  _you_  to do something.”One outburst didn’t mean he was ready just to spit profanities like Harry fucking Potter.

Potter laughed. “My apologies for keeping you waiting, Malfoy. Slow isn’t really your style, is it? Would you rather I start straight at my cock and stroke myself for you? Can you hear that? That’s my hand sliding up and down my cock already. Is that what you wanted, Malfoy? Are you going to touch yourself in time with me, Malfoy? Go on, Malfoy. I’d love to hear you too.”

Draco was already pulling his briefs down, and grabbing a hold of his own cock as soon as it was exposed. He listened to the slick movements over the speaker - Merlin, just the thought of Potter with a hand on his dick! - and timed his own movements to match. With the sound of Potter’s laboured breathing filling his bedroom as well, it was almost as if Draco was the one stroking Potter. Almost.

“Yes, Malfoy, let me hear you. Touch yourself with me. Do you want to know what else I’m doing? I’m running my other hand across my chest, circling around my nipples, teasing but never touching. Do you want me to touch my nipples, Malfoy? I won’t unless you say.”

“Yes, touch them!” Draco yelled, even as he teased his own nipples. He was beginning to worry Potter might suspect he had not quite hung up the phone at all.

Potter made a sound that started off as a laugh and evolved into a soft moan. “Remember when you moaned around my cock, Malfoy? That was hot.”

Draco clearly remembered being  _laughed at_ so he wasn’t so eager to repeat the performance, but his body had other plans. He held himself off for as long as possible, releasing his own nipples to bite down on a fist. But when Potter added “I want to hear you” in that deep raspy  _phone sex voice_ , Draco let go. It started off as a small whimper but became more intense as Potter responded with his own moan - and spiralled into what sounded like a competition of who could moan the loudest. (Draco.)

“I’m close,” Potter whispered. “I wish I could come all over you.”

Draco should have been repulsed by the thought, and any other time he would have told Potter off for it, but right now, he couldn’t help but agree. He wasn’t so sure where his rational mind had disappeared to because he was imagining Potter kneeling above him on his bed, his come splashing onto Draco’s chest, his face, even his own cock, and that thought was far hotter to Draco than it should have been.

It led to the next thought -  Draco coming on Potter in return. An idea came to Draco immediately that he didn’t bother to talk himself out of. He reluctantly let go off his cock - temporarily! - to roll onto his side and fish through his bedside table drawers. He kept most copies of the Daily Prophet and he knew there was one where - yes, there it was!

“Wizarding Saviour on Path to Become Head Auror” the headline read. An image of Potter covered most of the page, his eyes flashing with undisguised anger as reporters shoved their cameras and quick-quotes quills in his face. He’d just come back from a raid and it showed - his shirt was loose, the buttons opening at the neck, his hair was as wild as it was after sucking cock (an image Draco would never forget) and despite his anger, his face still had that twinkle of residual excitement, the remaining adrenaline from his work still coursing through his body.

It was perfect.

Draco placed the paper on his bed by his pillow and kneeled over it, picturing Potter splayed out beneath him, naked and wanting - which wasn’t particularly difficult considering the _sounds_ Potter was making now. It really did feel as if he were in the room.

Draco eagerly returned his hand to his cock and pulled himself off to the sound of Potter’s moans, to the flash of excitement and anger in his eyes, to the thought of what Potter was doing to himself on the other end of the phone line. The narration had stopped, replaced with only heavy breathing and moans, so the only thing Draco was sure of was that Potter was…enjoying himself.

And it must have been obvious that Draco was too. He’d completely given up holding back any of his own sounds - and if he was honest, the thought,  _the thrill_ , of Potter listening to him as he touched himself, only made Draco moan louder. He  _wanted_  Potter to hear him - he wanted Potter to hear the moment he came all over his face - or the image of his face at least. Not that he would ever let Potter know exactly what he was doing.

But Potter’s moment came first - Draco could tell by the change in pitch of Potter’s moans, and also the way he began whispering “Malfoy,” just like the last time he had come - and wasn’t  _that_ arousing.

Unfortunately, in the excitement of the moment, Draco forgot that perhaps he might have to talk to Potter again after this humiliating night and whispered “Yes, Potter,  _come_  on me,” in response. Although, it was clear Potter appreciated it from the muffled grunt that came through the phone line.

That was all it took for Draco’s own orgasm to start, the residual panting from Potter egging him on, Potter’s eyes challenging him, daring him to - and  _oh fucking Merlin_ , there it was. The first splash of come on Potter’s face and wasn’t that a fucking spectacular sight? The rest came out of Draco in a brilliant high, all the while Potter blinked up at him.

When the high subsided and Draco’s cock was well and truly spent, he dropped down to the bed beside his now come-covered edition of The Daily Prophet, slowly regaining control of his breathing. He could hear Potter still doing the same.

 _Potter!_ In his post-orgasm state, Draco felt the embarrassment hit him again. His face flushed with the thought of all the ridiculous things he had said to Potter. What were they supposed to say to each other now? His eyes darted over to the clock by his bedroom door - 11.59pm. It was late. Perhaps Draco could pretend he fell asleep and -  _11.59pm. Shit._ Draco rolled over to the phone in impressive post-orgasm speed and pressed the end call button.

He dropped back to his bed, exhausted.  _Fuck._


	12. Part Twelve

Draco fiddled with the buttons at the neck of his dress robe.  He looked good. He _knew_ he looked good. But he couldn’t help the doubt from sneaking its way in. What if  _Potter_  didn’t like his dress robes? Perhaps purple had been a bit too exuberant for the affair. Perhaps  _Potter_ would think it a tacky choice.

Although, there was far more to worry about than just his dress robes. Potter had been particularly cold lately when Draco had run into him at the Ministry. Draco was sometimes lucky enough to be acknowledged with a clipped “Healer Malfoy” and a curt nod, but other times he was completely ignored. Despite nothing usually happening outside of November third, Potter had never been  _this_ unwelcoming, and Draco worried even his favourite day wouldn’t be enough to get Potter on side this year.

He dropped his hands from the button of his robes. He couldn’t very well go home and change now - he couldn’t bear being tardy to the Ministry’s Christmas Ball. Especially since it was the first year he’d been invited, now that his training was finally over and he was no longer a junior Healer. As soon as he’d seen the date on the invite, his heart had begun training for the ballet in his chest.

Draco composed himself before he walked in. He reminded himself of how good he looked with a quick glance at the crescent cufflinks of his robes, and the impeccable embroidery surrounding the buttons from his neck to his faux dragon-hide shoes. He was certain he’d be the finest looking person at the ball.

That is until he entered the foyer of the Ministry and spotted Harry Potter immediately.

Potter certainly wasn’t dressed better. His robes looked like the same tuxedo style knock-off every muggleborn owned - fitting to wear to both Wizarding and muggle events without arousing suspicion. And somehow - Draco suspecting heavy duty sticking charms - Potter had ruined his hair by slicking it back for the event. But despite his poor styling choices, there was something so captivating about Potter’s presence, and Draco could tell it wasn’t his own bias. Everyone was glancing, as they walked by, giving Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the  _man_ who lived, a second look.

Draco didn’t have time to play coy tonight. He made a beeline straight for Potter, only pausing to receive two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. Potter looked up as Draco approached, narrowing his eyes at the glasses.

“Pot - “ Draco began but he was cut off.

“Minister, may I introduce you to Healer Malfoy?” Potter said politely, addressing the woman beside him that Draco had failed to notice. He turned to Draco. “Healer Malfoy, I trust you know the Minister for Magic, Clarissa Jones?”

Draco jerked his head over to Minister Jones, eyes widening. He had almost ignored the Minister for Magic. “Of course,” he said smoothly, despite the fresh bead of sweat that rolled down the back of his neck, “What a pleasure to meet you, Minister Jones.” He held out Potter’s Champagne glass. “Can I offer you a drink?”

“How thoughtful of you, Healer Malfoy. Unfortunately at events like this when everyone is off duty, I find I’m still very much on, so I think it’s best to keep a clear head. Perhaps Harry could use one?”

 _Harry?_ Potter was on a first name basis with the Minister for Magic? Draco still hadn’t reached that level and they had sucked each other’s cocks for fuck’s sake. Draco reluctantly handed the drink over to Potter, realising it no longer held any chivalrous value.

“Thank you, Healer Malfoy,” Potter said with far too much formality as he took hold of the drink - not from the stem, but from the bowl, like an amateur. Draco deigned not to comment on that.

“Speaking of duty, there are some old conservatives arriving that I need to schmooze. Harry - good to see you as always. Healer Malfoy, glad to have made your acquaintance.” The Minister took her leave politely, striding over to the entrance and greeting two elderly men who appeared to already be arguing with one of the waiters.

Draco returned his gaze to Potter - he was attacking his champagne glass with very little sophistication, downing it as if it might have been a shot glass. A strand of Potter’s hair broke loose from his charms, sticking up from his head in an endearing fashion. Draco waited patiently for Potter to finish, taking a small sip of his own glass.

When Potter finished his glass, he opened his mouth to say something - so Draco quickly cut him off, certain he wouldn’t like whatever Potter intended. “Would you like to dance?”

The Ministry foyer had been converted into a ballroom of sorts, with a wide-open dance space that was yet to be filled. It usually took a while, and a couple of drinks, for the first brave couple to make their way to the dance floor. Draco wasn’t usually so brave, but he didn’t want to waste any time tonight.

Potter closed his mouth and then opened it again. “Why would you want to -“ he paused, his eyes narrowing. “Oh. I see,” he said, in the cold manner Draco had become accustomed to hearing his name uttered within the past year.

Draco gripped onto the stem of his glass a little tighter. “You see what?”

Potter didn’t say anything for a moment, his narrow eyes blinking back at Draco’s slowly, before his face relaxed. Although the smile that appeared seemed a little too deliberate. “Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “I’d love to dance of course.”

Draco mimicked Potter’s smile. “Excellent. Then we’ll just…dance,” He said, taking another sip of his Champagne.

The sip became longer when Potter made no move towards the dance floor. Draco wasn’t sure what Potter expected. If they were courting, Draco would have guided Potter there, but he still wasn’t quite sure what their situation was and whether that would be appropriate. So he kept sipping.

Potter must have picked up on Draco’s nerves - no not nerves, just unfamiliarly with the situation - because he rolled his eyes and held out his arm. Once Draco finished the glass, he had no more excuses, so he passed it to a nearby waiter and took Potter’s arm.

Draco felt eyes on them as they moved towards the dance floor. Which made sense - they were the two most attractive people in the room of course, what with Draco’s fine robes, and Potter’s - well, Potter’s everything. But self-doubt grew from the back of Draco’s mind - what if people thought he wasn’t good enough for Potter? What if  _that’s_ why they were staring, wondering who the prat in the beautiful robes thought he was?

They reached the dance floor too quickly. The music was muggle, a classical composition that wasn’t slow, but nor was it fast. Draco flicked through various ballroom dances in his mind, trying to find one that would best fit the tempo - as the first dancers, their choice would set the atmosphere for the rest of the night. It was very important they -

Somehow Potter had gotten it into his head that he could lead. He took Draco’s hand with one of his and placed the other on the arch of Draco’s back - which seemed far too low for any ballroom dance style. Then Potter starting waltzing.  _Waltzing._ Like they were children, copying their parents at a wedding. It was certainly not the appropriate choice for the first dance, but it was too late. They had committed to it.

Potter was a terrible dancer. Dreadful really. Less than half a minute in, Draco couldn’t take it any longer. He grabbed Potter’s arm from his back and placed it on his shoulder, returning his own to an appropriate height on Potter’s back. As soon as Draco was leading, the dancing improved immensely. At least Potter could follow direction.

Once Draco no longer had the dancing to fret over, the situation suddenly hit him. Potter. So close to him. And worse, the eye contact! Where else was Draco supposed to look than right in front of him at Potter? And where else was Potter supposed to look but right back? The silence between them seemed strange, weighted. Draco couldn’t bear it.

“Why have you been ignoring me?” He blurted out.

Potter missed a step. “ _What?”_

Potter’s tone almost made Draco want to backtrack. But he was tired of being a coward. He straightened himself up, adjusting his hold on Potter’s back. “You’ve been acting very cold, lately. I’m not sure what I’ve - “

Potter cut Draco off with a laugh, but it was nothing like the sound Draco loved. “Did you ever think that perhaps I’ve been waiting for  _you_ to acknowledge _me_?”

Draco blinked back at Potter. “But how? I don’t know what you want.”

“Malfoy,” Potter said, his anger obvious in the tightness of his hand in Draco’s, “I’ve had enough of dropping hints and chasing you. I know you want me. I just don’t know why you’re making things so difficult.”

“You don’t - you can’t know I - I don’t _want_ you,” Draco stumbled over his words, trying to defend himself. The room had suddenly grown very hot. Their dancing had become more of an awkward shuffle that was more standing still than it was movement.

“Look,” Potter said, as he stood on Draco’s foot, “there’s another ball in a couple of weeks. It’s a charity function for - “

“I haven’t been invited,” Draco interrupted quickly. He was a little sour about it actually. “Senior healers only.”

Potter rolled his eyes and stood on Draco’s foot again. Draco wondered if perhaps it was deliberate. “I’vebeen invited. If you like, I could - “

“I’m not looking for a pity ticket.”

Potter sighed, the breath hitting Draco’s face. “It wouldn’t be a pity ticket. We could go  _together._ ”

They had stopped dancing now. Draco wasn’t sure who had stopped first, all he knew is that he still had one hand in Potter’s, the other on his back, and he couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away from Potter’s eyes. He wanted to say yes. He was  _going_ to say yes. His pride be damned. But - he couldn’t move.

“You know what, just forget it, Malfoy.” Potter took a step back, disentangling himself from Draco. “I don’t know why I’m even bothering.”

Draco felt his hands fall down to his sides as Potter walked off. There were other couples on the dance floor now, but it was only Draco who stood alone. He watched a couple waltz past him, giggling as they bumped knees. The sound pulled him out of his frozen stance. He followed Potter through the crowd, which had grown now, striding quickly so he could catch up. He watched as Potter ducked into an alcove off the main room.

Thinking fast, and heading into damage control, Draco fished another two glasses off a waiter before following Potter in. “What are you so mad about?” He asked, holding a glass out for Potter.

Potter didn’t take it. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. The sticking charms in his hair had finally given up completely, his hair popping up at all angles. “What do you think?”

“That you need a drink?” Malfoy tried lightly, gesturing with the glass he still held out for Potter.

“It’s  _you_ , Malfoy,” Potter accused, ignoring the joke. “You ignore me, almost constantly, except for one day, and then you wonder why I’m so…so  _furious_  with you.”

“November third?” So Potter had caught on. “But that’s the only time you - “

“It’s  _not_  the only time. All through eighth year, I thought I made it clear. I was dropping hints constantly. And two years ago, I gave you my number. You could have called me any day, Malfoy. I always would have answered. But for some reason, you can’t seem to get over this weird fascination with November third. What’s so special about today, Malfoy?”

“You,” Draco answered quietly, not sure if he wanted Potter to hear him but knowing he had to say it all the same. “You’re what’s special.”

“I’m here every other day too,” Potter challenged, but his tone had grown softer. He finally took the glass of Champagne Draco had been holding out.

“But you’re - you. Harry Potter. And I’m me. It doesn’t make sense that you’d want me outside of…whatever this is.”

“This isn’t anything. This is just a day.”

Draco thought back to the time Potter had fallen through his ceiling. “But - “

“Don’t think about the day,” Potter interrupted. “Just think about us.” He took Draco’s Champagne glass and placed it on the ground with his own.

“What are you doing? You can’t put Champagne on the -“

Draco’s point about Champagne on the floor was lost, and gladly. Because instead of teaching Potter about basic etiquette, Draco was being taught by Potter how to kiss. Not that he didn’t know how to kiss. He hadn’t just been pining after Potter for four (eleven) years. But Potter’s lips were something else.

Potter’s lips were everything. Soft and hard. Gentle and demanding. Bracing and warm. How had Draco gone this long without kissing Harry Potter? He should have realised from the way Potter’s lips felt on his neck and his cock, that they’d feel this wonderful on his own. And he certainly knew how talented Potter’s tongue could be if it were to make an appear -

And there it was. Potter’s tongue in his mouth. Potter tasted like a Champagne Mojito and Draco was getting wildly drunk off it. He felt light-headed, but he wanted more. Always more. There was never enough time with Potter. And now that he knew what  _this_ felt like, he didn’t want to give it up for a second.

Draco took a step towards Potter, meaning to hold him against the wall and make out with him a little more wildly. It was going to be sexy and Potter was going to be very impressed, so of course, it didn’t happen quite as planned. Instead, Draco swayed just a little bit to the left as he moved in, and his foot sent the Champagne glasses tumbling over.

They both broke from the kiss at the clatter of the glasses, which rolled into the corner of the alcove, leaving a sticky trail in their wake. Potter’s laughter brought Draco’s gaze back up, and he saw for the first time, Potter’s freshly kissed lips. Bright red and irresistible. He forgot about the champagne and went straight for those lips.

Luckily, Potter didn’t seem too concerned about the champagne either. At least, when Draco pressed up against him, it was clear there were...other thoughts on his mind. Other thoughts that stretched his robe just a little in the front.

Draco hadn’t got quite there if he was honest. He was feeling far more sentimental than he was horny today. Which isn’t to say he wasn’t horny. Only that as much as he enjoyed the feel of Potter’s erection between them, it was the hand that came up to caress his face that made his heart beat faster. It was the sound of Potter’s laughter between kisses. It was Harry Potter.

Draco only pulled away when he thought his knees might give up. His light headedness had travelled to the rest of his body and he knew he didn’t have much standing left in him. Not when Potter was doing those things with his tongue.

He slumped against the wall beside Potter, giving his legs some support, letting his breathing fall back into place. Potter, red lips, wild hair, tilted his head to look at Draco and, okay, perhaps that sent a very specific feeling to Draco’s cock, but it was also warmth, and, Draco felt sappy writing it, love.

Not that Draco thought Potter was in love with him or anything. That would take a miracle. But just for this moment, that’s what Potter was showing him in his eyes, and Draco didn’t care if it was fleeting, he was going to hold onto that look for the rest of his life.

“Do you think I’m hornier this time of year or something?” Potter’s voice was teasing, not angry.

Draco couldn’t make sense of it, which may have been in part to his residual lightheadedness. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, am I easier to seduce on November third?” Potter raised his eyebrows. He was still teasing, but Draco suspected it wasn’t as light a question as Potter’s tone suggested.

“I don’t think you’re easy to seduce at all,” Draco returned. It was an honest answer, but also carefully picked to appease Potter.

Potter laughed. (Success!) “You can be very smooth sometimes.”

“I resent the implication that I am not always smooth.”

“Well, only when you’re not playing coy with me.” Potter’s playful smirk, was another thing altogether with his head lulled back against the wall as it was.

Draco felt as if he’d been dosed with veritaserum. He had such a desire to tell Potter exactly what he thought about that smirk. He settled for something a little vaguer, but still more forward than he’d usually allow himself, and honest. Completely honest.

“I’m very attracted to you right now.”

Draco closed his eyes after saying it when he realised he didn’t want to know Potter’s reaction. He wasn’t being smooth anymore. Just sappy.

There was a short silence and then a whisper in Draco’s ear, meaning Potter was a lot closer than Draco realised. “Come with me.”

Draco obeyed immediately, letting Potter’s arm guide him as he opened his eyes. Potter wasn’t looking at Draco, only straight ahead, as he led them back through the party crowds and onto the dance floor once more.

“What -“

“I didn’t get to enjoy this earlier. So we’re going to have one perfect dance before I take you back to my house and we fuck.”

Draco’s face lit up in flames. Potter wasn’t even bothering to whisper. What if someone  _heard_? But he would be lying if he said he wasn’t completely on board with the suggestion. So he did as Potter wanted, and pulled him into position for a waltz.

They were the silent this time as they danced. Which was good…and bad. Good, because Draco had a reason to stare at Potter unabashedly.  Bad because Potter was looking right back, and Draco wasn’t sure exactly what his face was revealing. Something pathetic probably. Something sappy.

Draco supposed he could have tried something on the dance floor, let his hand sink down Potter’s back, but he didn’t  want to ruin the dance. It was intimate. But not  _intimate._ There was something sweet about it. And as red as he was with Potter staring at him for so long, he couldn’t help but revel in the shared look, like it meant more than a look. Like there was something passing between them as they danced. Which was silly. And romantic. And entirely ridiculous. But Draco felt it all the same.

Despite the exciting prospect of the activities to follow, Draco was still disappointed when the dance ended. He’d have much rathered they be the last ones to leave the dance floor. But he couldn’t help Potter’s hormones, so he reluctantly (gladly) allowed Potter to lead him from the Ministry, only stopping to exchange various pleasantries with familiar faces. If they thought anything of Draco and Potter’s linked arms, they didn’t show it, which was a relief. Draco really didn’t want to explain they were leaving the ball early to fuck. It really wasn’t proper at this sort of event.

Potter apparated them both as soon as they were free of the Ministry wards, and then…it started.

 _It_ was Potter showing no respect for fine clothing and attacking the buttons of Draco’s robes. He started off frenzied, impatient, but around Draco’s chest, Potter started to slow down. There were a lot of buttons and they were hard work. Draco knew this well - he was the one who had to button them all up after all.

At Draco’s belly button, Potter paused and looked up. “Couldn’t you just slip out of it now?”

“Potter, do you know how expensive these robes are?” Draco saw Potter start to pull out his wand (his actual wand, no euphemism here). “No magic either. You might ruin the fabric.”

Potter dropped his wand and returned to the buttons. “Who knew you were such a muggle,” he said as he worked on Draco’s crotch (the buttons at his crotch, that is).

Draco used the time to take in Potter’s house. Potter had apparated them straight into his bedroom. A brash but certainly not unwelcome move. There were clothes strewn across the floor and even a few on the bed which told Draco a two things - one, that he hadn’t actually thought out what he was wearing for the night until the night itself (How did people _live_ like that?) and two, he hadn’t intended on bringing Draco (or anyone else for that matter) home. Which was charming. Merlin, Potter was just so fucking charming.

When Potter finally unbuttoned the last button at Draco’s ankles, Draco took a step back. He couldn’t trust Potter to treat his robes with any form of delicacy, so he shrugged them off his shoulders himself, very aware that he was only wearing underwear and Potter’s eyes were all over his skin. Potter may have seen his cock before, but he’d never seen him completely exposed like this.

He had to turn from Potter to drape his robes carefully over a chair by Potter’s bedroom window. He would’ve preferred a hanger, but it seemed like an inappropriate moment to ask. Before he could turn back around, he felt hands sneaking around his torso. Potter was fast.

“How am I supposed to tell you your dress robes look much better on my bedroom floor if you’re just going to go and do that?”

“Nothing I own is going anywhere near your bedroom floor, Potter,” Draco retorted as cooly as he could with Potter’s hands tracing patterns into his chest (so not very cooly at all).

“Oh really?” Potter whispered in Draco’s ear, his hands dropping to Draco’s briefs, toying with the waistband. “Not even these?”

Draco meant to scoff but an entirely different sound came out of his mouth. “If you had any decency, you’d fold them neatly by my robes.”

Potter laughed into Draco’s ear - it was uncomfortably loud but Draco didn’t mind. Potter hooked his hands into Draco’s underwear but he didn’t pull them down straight away, just held his hands there, his intention obvious, until Draco couldn’t take it anymore.

“ _Potter,_ ” he whispered hoping it would convey his thoughts -  _hurry the fuck up._

It did. Potter obeyed and slid Draco’s briefs down his legs, a little unnecessarily handsy over his arse (not that Draco was complaining) and teasingly slow down his thighs (not that Draco was complaining). Potter must have taken Draco’s words to heart because he didn’t let go even as Draco’s underwear passed his knees. He held onto them still at Draco’s ankles as Draco awkwardly extracted his legs, so that they never once touched the ground.

And then he folded them - the incorrect way but Draco let that one slide - and placed them on the chair where Draco’s robes hung. It would have been childish if the act itself hadn’t left Draco completely naked. With a completely clothed Potter. Draco had no way to hide that the situation had left him quite seriously aroused.

And Potter noticed. When he turned back from the chair, he was facing Draco, and his eyes swooped down immediately. Draco had both the urge to hide himself and start stroking himself under Potter’s gaze. He didn’t end up acting on either, opting rather to wait on Potter’s next move, which he couldn’t imagine would be displeasing after the start to the night.

It wasn’t displeasing. Quite the opposite. See, Potter taking a step forward and gliding a single hand over Draco’s cock - not holding it, not stroking it, just the barest teasing graze - before playing with the hairs at Draco’s navels, was very pleasing, to put it lightly. And the reactive shiver that trailed up to the back of his neck making him jump, made that quite obvious.

Potter leaned up to Draco’s ear - if he was going to make a habit of this, Draco was definitely in favour. “I don’t have quite so many buttons,” he whispered, “and I don’t mind magic.” He held out Draco’s wand which Draco hadn’t even realised Potter’d fished from his robes. He’d been a little…distracted.

Potter’s meaning was clear, and Draco didn’t see any point in waiting. So he vanished Potter’s awful tuxedo robes. Potter looked so much better without them anyway. Draco wasn’t sure if he’d accidentally vanished Potter’s underwear too, or if Potter had just gone without, but he hoped for the latter. Either way, the result was the same: Draco had a full unimpeded view of one naked Harry Potter.

And as much as he wanted to stare at Potter forever, staring at Potter incidentally made him want other things too. Many things that certainly couldn’t be done simultaneously, and several things Draco didn’t even have a name for. He started with something simple, but no less desirable. He pulled Potter in for a kiss.

Except it couldn’t just be a kiss, not when they were both naked, and the proximity made their cocks touch. If it was still a kiss, it was the extreme of a kiss - whatever the next level of kiss was after a French kiss…German? It was that and then some. Draco hadn’t realised Potter had been holding back before but he could tell now. And when Potter grazed his teeth over Draco’s bottom lip, Draco could have sworn he heard himself moan “More!” into Potter’s mouth.

And then Potter was pushing Draco back, guiding him towards the bed as they kissed. Draco gave into it willingly, eager for all the additional things they could do horizontally. Potter’s last push was rough and made Draco fall back onto the bed. Draco thought he might have liked that a little too much.

Draco shuffled up higher on the bed while Potter watched him, still standing by the side. Potter’s eyes were dark and lidded - it made Draco feel dirty just to be looked at like that. Feeling a bit brazen under that very look, Draco let his legs fall open to give Potter the best possible view of his cock. He hoped it might encourage Potter to get a move on and join Draco in bed.

It did.

Potter crawled up to Draco from the foot of the bed, holding his head down as if he might suck Draco’s cock (which was always welcome), but all Draco felt was Potter’s breath on his balls as Potter crawled further up, settling in-between Draco’s legs and reclaiming his lips for another kiss.

Draco jerked his hips up to find Potter’s cock and was not disappointed. When he brought his hips back down, Potter’s followed, pushing into him against the bed and pulling back and - oh Merlin, Potter was basically humping him. And Draco was very much enjoying it. Horizontal things were very good indeed.

Potter pulled his mouth from Draco’s and trailed kisses across his jaw to his neck. The sensation was not unlike eighth year, but the intensity had heightened, tenfold. If he’d known exactly how much naked humping with Potter improved the experience, he would have stripped down right in the middle of their truth and dare circle. Because this was fucking brilliant. The stimulation of his neck and cock at once kept his whole body on fire.

Potter’s lips fell from Draco’s neck when his humping became more insistent - he was no longer pulling back but pushing down against Draco constantly, rubbing his cock up Draco’s length with the most delightful friction.

Draco could tell Potter was close because he had picked up his pace and his pants had become heavier. His dark eyes were on Draco’s as he rocked back and forth, his expression alone egging Draco’s own orgasm along. But it still seemed like Potter would be the one to get there first.

At the thought of Potter coming in the position they were in, Draco was reminded of their phone call the previous year. He’d been so humiliated by all the things he had said but here, now, with the same horniness in possession of his mind, Draco thought that perhaps they’d had some great ideas that night. And Draco hadn’t forgotten that Potter had wanted to come on him. That had starred in plenty of following masturbation fantasies. And right now, it seemed like the fantasy might actually come true.

“Are you going to come on me, Potter?” Draco teased, egging Potter on, hoping he’d hit the right mark with his tone. He wanted it to be sexy but voicing dirty talk always had the risk of turning silly.

Potter made a sound that was very much in favour of the dirty talk. “Yes,  _yes!_ ” he whispered back.  Draco supposed Potter was a little too close to focus on forming his own sentences in return. That was fine. Draco thought he had it well under control on his own.

“Are you going to come all over my cock, Potter? Is that what you want? Or would you rather - “

“Cock. Your _cock._ ” Potter’s voice was breathless and needy and Draco loved it. He could tell any second now -

Potter came, with a high pitched moan Draco recognised well because it featured in most of his dreams. Draco arched himself closer as Potter came on him, the feeling of come on his cock, electrifying Draco. It felt so dirty but fuck it was arousing.

“Malfoy,” Potter was whispering, “Malfoy. Malfoy. Malfoy.”

As his climax ended, Potter brought his lips down on Draco’s, kissing him with a lazy energy. He broke off and winked at Draco, his lips trailing down Draco’s chest and telling the rest of the story. Potter was going to lick his own come off Draco’s cock. Oh fuck.  _Fuck._

Draco kept his head propped up on the bed so he could watch it happen. When Potter reached Draco’s cock, he didn’t even hesitate, his tongue darting out and catching the come on Draco’s cock first, before licking up around his navel and then down across his balls as well. Draco couldn’t recall a more arousing experience in his life. Potter was licking his come off Draco’s cock! Harry Potter’s tongue. Harry Potter’s come. And Draco Malfoy’s cock. All other fantasies were ruined. This was the one thing he’d be thinking about for the rest of his life.

The arousing clean up finished much too quickly, Potter went to take Draco’s cock into his mouth, but Draco stopped him. Draco knew he wasn’t long off now - not after what he’d just witnessed - and he had another thought. Something else he very much wanted to try, but not without Potter’s permission.

“Can I come on your face?”

It sounded weird asking. But he couldn’t just surprise Potter with it, and besides, he thought perhaps Potter would be into it and it would be so much hotter if he wanted it too.

Potter smiled lazily up at Draco. “Yes,  _please,”_ he said, licking his lips in a manner that could only be suggestive.  _Fuck,_ Potter was hot.

Potter took Draco’s cock in his mouth and started a fast rhythm quickly, one that was bound to have him coming soon. Potter enthusiasm for Draco to come on his face was obvious. And hot. Did he mention hot? And now Potter was making noises that Draco could feel from the tip of his cock to the back of his neck, and -

Draco meant to warn Potter but his impending orgasm left his words a little garbled.  “I’m - Potter - yes - on - Potter - yes.”

Potter understood regardless and pulled off Draco’s cock just as he began to come. It hit Potter’s lips first - those wonderful fucking lips - and then somehow it was everywhere. Draco Malfoy’s come. Dripping down Harry Potter’s face. Oh, fucking Merlin.

Draco relaxed as his orgasm subsided but he didn’t take his eyes off Potter. Potter was something else. He really was. He was hot and  _Harry Potter_  and fuck, he was licking those fucking lips again, those come covered lips. And Draco’s cock was twitching like it wasn’t his own come still fresh on Potter’s face.

Draco dropped his head down onto the bed, exhausted. His cock may have wanted a round two, but the rest of his body said otherwise. He was spent. And thoroughly satisfied. Harry Potter was...well, there were no words to accurately summarise what Harry Potter was.

He closed his eyes, vaguely aware of the cleaning charm cast on him, and a body curling up beside him.

 

* * *

  

Draco woke up in darkness, his surroundings taking some time to make sense. He had fallen asleep. He wasn’t supposed to have fallen asleep. Shit. He went to get up - he had to check the time -  and only then did he notice the arms wrapped around him, weighing him down.

“Stay,” whispered a sleepy voice behind him.

Draco turned his head to gauge Potter’s reaction - he was worried he might be mad. But Potter’s eyes were closed, his expression blank. “You have to stay,” he said in his sleep.

Draco stared at Potter’s sleeping face, enraptured by the peacefulness of it. He couldn’t look away. Potter was wonderful and charming and noble and hot as fucking hell. It was impossible, but Draco wanted to keep him forever.

By the time Draco found his wand on the bedside table beside him - courtesy of Potter he could only imagine -  and cast a tempus charm, it was already 12.01am. It was November  _fourth_ and Harry Potter’s arms were still tightly wound around him. 

Draco dropped his head back down to the pillow and closed his eyes, relief flooding through him. Maybe this year he could keep Potter for another day after all. 

He’d have to work on forever.


	13. Epilogue

Harry tried not to snoop. He really did. But it was a  _ring_  box. How could he not look inside? Okay yes, the ring box had been at the bottom of Draco’s sock drawer, but he’d only opened the drawer because he couldn’t find the pair to one of his socks and thought perhaps it had been mixed up with Draco’s. It hadn’t. And Harry had long forgotten about matching socks.

Because, funnily enough, inside the ring box was a  _ring_. It was a thin gold band that was far less extravagant than Draco’s usual taste, which meant he had picked it out especially for Harry. It was simple but with a slight imperfect curve to the band that Harry took a liking to immediately. It was perfect.

Harry stared at the ring for a long time, letting the weight of it reach him. He hadn’t realised Draco would propose to him. Even now, when they’d been together almost a year, Draco could still sometimes be quite reserved when talking about his feelings. Harry had always imagined that he would be the one to propose to Draco and he’d been thinking about the right way to do it for some time.

Now he wouldn’t have to.

He stashed the ring back away only when he realised he was running late for work, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He couldn’t wait for Draco to propose. He couldn’t wait to say yes.

 

* * *

 

A week passed. Harry didn’t want to spoil Draco’s surprise and hint that he had seen the box, but he was desperate to give him a little nudge. He didn’t care about anything romantic. He’d be quite alright with Draco casually popping the question in the bathroom as they brushed their teeth in their twin sinks.

Although that didn’t happen, of course, one morning, at those very twin sinks, Draco did suggest they try out a new restaurant the coming Saturday and that Harry should dress for the occasion. And Harry knew exactly what that meant. But he kept himself composed and agreed to the suggestion - his own proposal dinner - as casually as he could.

 

* * *

 

The restaurant was a dead giveaway, even if Harry hadn’t seen the box. It required reservations months in advance - which Draco had made (!) - and cost more than Harry’s monthly Head Auror paycheck. It was far from a regular Saturday night dinner affair.

Draco wasn’t giving anything away though. Over dinner, they spoke of work and Ministry gossip, and Draco even mentioned the laundry at one point, which seemed far from proposal dinner talk. Harry was beginning to think that perhaps he had been reading into tonight too much after all until one of the wait staff accidentally dropped off the wrong bill at their table.

“I think we’ve overstayed our welcome, Harry.” Draco whispered over the table jokingly. “They’re giving us a sign.”

Harry only glanced down at the bill as the waiter hurriedly moved to retrieve it, less the rich table who ordered lobster, caviar  _and_  oysters be judged for their obnoxious tastes. But for some reason, the date caught his eye. November second.

Draco was going to propose at midnight.

Harry thought it over as they ate dessert. Draco wasn’t one for conversation when there was anything chocolate-flavoured in front of him.

It made sense of course. It was their one year anniversary. It was a day of memories across many years. But Harry had forgotten. The day didn’t mean as much to him as it did to Draco. For Harry, it came with more frustration than it did pleasure. It reminded him of the 364 (sometimes 365) other days of the year that Draco had ignored him. The days that started hopeful and turned into confusion and hurt.

The past year had been different of course. Finally, he and Draco had been able to make new memories day after day. To have something special outside of that one wretched day. So perhaps this was the start of another new year of memories. Perhaps November third could mean something else. It could be less about a moment, and more about what it was to stay.

Although, it was Draco’s proposal, so Harry probably shouldn’t have been the one overthinking the symbolism. He shook it from his head. It didn’t matter when or where Draco proposed. It only mattered that he wanted to. And Harry would gladly say yes.

After dinner, Draco suggested a walk which Harry thought nothing of. It was not long after 10pm. The proposal was still some time off.

They walked aimlessly around the block, arms wrapped around each other. Draco would usually argue it was for warmth despite the ease of warming charms, but tonight he said nothing.

Draco stopped them under a bright streetlight in a small laneway. It wasn’t a particularly seedy laneway, nor was it particularly clean. The light above them flickered occasionally, but not often enough to be distracting. It was simply unremarkable. Harry couldn’t understand why they had stopped.

“Where are we?” He asked, turning to Draco.

“Nowhere special,” Draco said with a wave of his hand, pulling his arm from Harry so they could face each other easily. “Don’t worry about that. Just think about us.”

Harry placed his own words easily. But couldn’t quite place their relevance now. “What do you mean?”

Draco held Harry’s eye the entire time as he slowly dropped to his knee. Right there in the lane. He didn’t even look first to check if the spot might dirty his robes. But Harry was certain he’d complain about a mark later.

Although Harry recognised the motion, things didn’t really click until he saw Draco pull the little ring box from his pocket.

“But it’s only 10.30pm,” Harry said, confused. Had Draco gotten the time wrong? That kind of seemed like something he’d be keeping track of as the proposer. “It’s still November second.”

“I know.” Draco opened the box, revealing the small band Harry already knew well. “Read the inscription.”

Inscription? Harry hadn’t noticed that when he’d had his sneak peek. He pulled the ring from the box gently and let his eyes travel across the inner ring of the band.

 _I love you **every**_   _day._

Harry must have read it ten times before he finally looked up at Draco - although his vision was a little marred by the wetness in his eyes.

“Do you understand? I wasn’t sure if it would be-“

“Draco, it’s perfect. Just ask me already.”

Draco smiled in that way he often did when he thought Harry wasn’t looking. Except there was no mistaking Harry’s gaze.

“Harry, will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on [tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/) for more drabbles and things or check out my other works on ao3 <3  
>   
> More like this:  
> [How to Apologise to Harry Potter in 10 Days (18k)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8468365e)  
> [Hot Tea (13k)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10259276)  
> [The Softer Side of Draco Malfoy (30k)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9822929)


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